Whispers in the Dark
by IronSparrow99
Summary: There are certain things that are taken for fact in the magical world: the dead cannot return, Dumbledore know and sees all, and, before now, once you've lived thirteen years as one person, you're that person until you die. As I am now finding out, this is not true. And now...I might just be screwed. (AU PoA) *Sequel now posted*
1. Chapter 1

My name is Allison Lily Potter.

I'm 13 years old, I hate (most of) my only living relatives, and I have a twin brother.

Did I mention that I'm a witch?

Yes, we do exist. No, my skin is not green, nor do I have warts or cackle…well, not most of the time anyways.

"BOY! GIRL! Get down here!"

I sigh as I prop myself on my elbows and look across the room to where my brother, Harry, was sitting on the mattress. "What did you do?"

"Why would I have done something, Ally? Why could _you_ have done something?"

"Because I know I haven't," I bite my lip worriedly as I push myself off the cot that was my bed and leave the room behind Harry and we both sprint down the stairs. If there's one thing we've learned over the past twelve years since our parents, Lily and James, died and we came here, it's this – when Uncle Vernon calls, you come. And you come quickly.

"Yes Uncle Vernon?" Harry asks levelly while I wait just behind his shoulder.

"Don't give me that cheek, boy! Now, I wanted to let you two freaks know that my sister, Marge, is coming over later tonight. Her train comes in at seven-"

I mentally groan; Aunt Marge was coming? She's one of the Muggles – non-magical people – that hates anything abnormal, much like her brother.

And Harry and I are the textbook definition of 'abnormal'.

"-and I want to go over a few things before she arrives. First, you won't dare mouth off to Marge."

"Okay," Harry nods.

"I will when she does," I mutter under my breath, but not without a fearful glance at Uncle Vernon.

"Second," he continues, apparently not hearing me, "there will be absolutely no… _freakishness_ …while she is here, understand? You two had better behave yourselves!"

Harry nods obediently while I repeat my earlier statement, just a little louder.

"SHUT UP, YOU FREAKISH GIRL!" my Uncle bellows, and I take one step back as Harry shifts slightly to be in front of me.

"Vernon, calm down!" a shrill voice calls from the kitchen as Aunt Petunia rounds the corner, her thin, horse-like face cautious. For, one fleeting moment I think she's going to come to my rescue. "The neighbors might hear!"

Well, there went that hope.

Uncle Vernon glares at me for another moment before straightening up and looking very blustered. "Right, sorry dear. Anyways, you two have work to do! I don't want to see a spot or stain in this entire house!"

I stare at him for a second in shock before Aunt Petunia shrieks "Your Uncle told you to do something! Get on with it!"

I nod before shooting a quick look at my brother, who just gives me a weary shake of his head.

"Dudders, do you want to go to the train station?" Aunt Petunia asks sweetly.

"No," my cousin, Dudley Dursley says simply before returning to the huge piece of triple chocolate cake he was inhaling.

And they wonder why he looks like a baby whale.

Uncle Vernon just smiles and claps a fat hand on his son's equally fat shoulder and kisses his wife on the cheek before grabbing his coat and heading for the door. "Get to work, freaks!"

I sigh lightly as the front door closes.

Aunt Petunia just shoves a bucket of soapy water at me and gives Harry a sponge.

* * *

Five hours later, we have washed the kitchen, straightened all the bedrooms, scrubbed the bathrooms, and my hands were red and they stung, much like they would after a Stinging Hex.

I was back on my cot, reading a page in my charms book, absently twirling my wand – Ebony, twelve and a half inches, and dragon heartstring – between my fingers as I read about the Flame Freezing spell for an essay while I kept one ear on the door.

Harry was across from me on his bed, Potions textbook open and a scroll next to him, quill in hand as he made a two foot essay on the properties and uses of lacewing flies.

"Professor Snape's a git," he sighs.

"I know," I agree, looking up from Wedelin the Weird being burned over thirty times because, with the aid of the Flame Freezing spell, she liked it. "But I don't think that'll change."

He sighs and grits his teeth as he puts the quill back to the parchment.

I flip a page in the book just as a scratching sound catches my attention. I look up to see a white owl hovering impatiently outside the window, another unrecognizable owl behind her. "Hedwig!"

Harry opens the window and his owl comes fluttering in, perching on his shoulder and nipping at his ear. I didn't have an owl – I wanted one, but when Harry got Hedwig from Hagrid two years ago, I got a book on Ancient Mysteries.

It's a nice book, but it's not an owl.

Hedwig was carrying a copy of the most popular newspaper, the _Daily Prophet_ , four letters, and two book-sized packages while the other owl – probably hired as help – carried another load of packages.

Harry grabs the letters first, taking two and handing two to me.

 _Dear Ally,_ the letter reads in a familiar neat scrawl,

 _Happy Birthday!_

"Wait, it's our birthday?"

My twin gives me a shocked look. "I guess so."

"Well, then, happy birthday."

"You too."

 _I hope you like what I sent you! Have you read the paper lately? Ron and his family have gone to Egypt! Oh, there so lucky! I bet they're learning so much._

 _I'm in France at the moment, and I'm learning some too. I've actually rewritten my History of Magic essay to include some French magical history – and it went two rolls over what he asked. Do you think he'll mind?_

 _We're going to be in London just before school, though, do you think you and Harry could come? Oh, I hope you can! If not, I'll see you September 1_ _st_ _aboard the train!_

 _Love,_

Hermione

 _P.S. - Percy's Head Boy. That's so exciting! I don't think Ron's pleased, though._

I laugh at the normalcy in her words – she doesn't want to see Egypt, just learn, learn, and do some more learning.

The next letter's a little more untidy and scattered, just like its author.

 _Dear Ally,_

 _Happy Birthday! How's your summer been?_

 _Mine's been amazing! Did you see the article? Dad won the_ Daily Prophet _draw! Seven hundred galleons! Egypt's been cool – well, actually hot – and Bill's been taking us to old tombs. There's even one with a three headed skeleton in it! Maybe that's Fluffy's owner?_

I let out a small laugh as I remember the three headed dog from first year.

 _Anyways, we'll be back in London for supplies before school. I'm getting a new wand and Mum and Dad promised Percy some new books. Hope you can meet us there!_

 _See you soon,_

Ron

 _P.S. – Percy's Head Boy, we just got the letter._

I laugh quietly as Harry sorts out the presents, handing two to me and starting on his first parcel.

I rip open the first package, which I learn is from Hermione, to reveal a small book, labeled _Unusual Talents among Magical Sort_ , with a note explaining that it had a piece on Parseltounge, which both Harry and I possess, and may or may not be related to the cause of our parent's deaths.

October 31st, 1981 – long story short, Voldemort showed up, my parents died – Dad died for me, Mum for Harry – and Harry got a scar on his forehead and I got one on my temple.

Anyways, we found out last year that both of us can speak to snakes, but that's a story for another time entirely.

Ron gave me a book on Quidditch - the boy's convinced that I have a hidden talent for flying (since my brother's a natural) that I would discover if I only gave the sport a chance.

I have nothing against the sport, it's fans, or it's players, but I wanted to give myself a few years to get over the culture shock of suddenly finding out you've been lied to your entire life, magic does exist, and your parents were murdered, not the victims of a car crash.

I begin to stack my books under my bed, out of Aunt Petunia's view, as Harry reaches for the last two packages.

I peek over his shoulder as he pulls out the small slip of paper that was tucked under the string.

 _Dear Harry and Ally,_ it reads

 _Happy Birthday! You may need there over the next year._

 _Regards,_

 _Hagrid._

Harry and I share a long, wary look before slowly turning our eyes to the two paper wrapped items. We knew Hagrid would never hurt us, of course, neither directly nor indirectly; but as much as I love the man, for he was my first friend in Magical England, he doesn't have a very good definition of what is safe and what's not.

I reach out a tentative hand, and the packages instantly go crazy, wriggling and snapping at my fingers. I fall backwards with an "Eep!"

Harry steadies me as we both hold our breath, waiting for Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to come storming through the door.

They don't, so we quickly turn our attention back to the snarling and clearly agitated package. "What do you think it is?" I breathe hesitantly.

"It's from Hagrid, there's no telling what it is or how life-threatening," my brother reminds me, and I nod with a small shrug.

"Remind me to ask Charlie to send me a pair of dragon hide gloves, will you?"

Harry waves me off distractedly as he slowly creeps towards the package and swipes away most of the paper with one movement, the remnants being torn away by the book itself.

Because the book, appropriately named _The Monster book of Monsters_ , was more beast than book. It snapped and bit using the opening of the book as a mouth.

"Why on earth would Hagrid think we would need this for school?" Harry asks incredulously as he scrambles backwards, the book skittering about on it's spine like some demented crab.

I just shrug and start looking for something to secure it with. My eyes land on one of Harry's – and therefore Dudley's – old belts, and I show it to my brother who nods and takes it from my hands.

We end up just straight forward tackling the books, wrapping the belt around the middles and stuffing them under our respective beds, leaving us on the floor panting.

And then the doorbell rings outside, followed by a bellowed "BOY! GIRL!"

Harry and I share an apprehensive look, already dreading the rest of our birthday night.

Aunt Marge was here.

* * *

 **Hey! I hoped you liked it.**

 **This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, because I normally right Avengers stories.**

 **Yes, it is a Harry's-sister piece. But it has an interesting twist, I promise.**

 **Please note that this does not mean I am abandoning my Avengers fandom, I just thought this would be a good idea and I need to expand anyways.**

 **Please review, favorite, follow, and all that good stuff! Reviewers get a virtual monkey (^.^)**


	2. Chapter 2

Aunt Marge was not a pleasant person, let alone a pleasant woman.

She was as large as her brother, and I would bet money on the suspicion that she has a wispy mustache growing on her lip. Her face reminded me of the bulldogs she bred for a living; vicious and flat out terrifying. For as long as I can remember, she's only inflicted pain and suffering.

When she visited on Dudley's fifth birthday, she whacked Harry in the sins with her walking cane (he had bruises the size of my palms for days) and I narrowly ducked a blow to the head for getting a little too close to my cousin's huge cake.

On Dudley's seventh birthday she did land a hit on me; one whack to my stomach that bruised massively and might have cracked a few ribs. She also set her bulldog, Ripper, on my brother.

The verbal insults started within the next year or so, once Harry and I could truly comprehend them. According to her, my father was an unemployed, drunken, and dangerous freak, and she then went on to call my mother things I don't dare repeat.

Now I was celebrating my first night as a teenager with the lady.

"Vernon, dear, and Petunia!" I jump to avoid the door as its flung open, moving quickly under the weight of her fur trench coat as Harry grabs her bag and Aunt Marge greets her brother and sister-in-law. "How are you?"

"We're well, Marge. How was the train ride?" Aunt Petunia asks politely as she goes to the kitchen to fix the tea.

"Wretched," Marge sighs. "Ripper got sick."

"Oh…that's…unfortunate," Aunt Petunia stammers uncertainly.

"It is, isn't it?" Marge nods. "I would leave him with the others back home, but he pines so when I'm gone. Don't you, dear? Yes, yes you do."

I purse my lips as Aunt Marge makes disgusting kissy noises at the waddling dog. Aunt Petunia sees me looking and glares, waving me and my brother into the kitchen and making us prepare dinner.

Aunt Marge sees us as we pass through the room and gives us a dark look. "So, still here, are you?"

"Yes," Harry deadpans and quickly leaves the room.

"Don't say 'yes' to me in that ungrateful tone, boy! Damn good of my brother to take you in, if you ask me." She turns to Uncle Vernon. "It'd be straight to an orphanage with them both if they'd been on _my_ doorstep."

"Well then it's a good thing we weren't, isn't it?" I grumble, quickly following my brother before anyone can comprehend what I said.

I grab a kitchen knife and help Harry prepare the salad – one that I know only half of the table's occupants will eat – while Aunt Marge finally catches sight of her nephew. "Is that my Dudders? Hm? Is that my neffy poo? Come and say hello to your Auntie Marge." She flashes a handful of coins, and Dudley tears his gaze away from his game to extend his hand obediently, and only after he pockets the change does he allow his aunt to hug him. I smirk at him over his shoulder, and his returning glare promises retribution.

I give a small dismissing shrug as I turn back to the half chopped onion in front of me. I bend down to grab a small bowl, but I must have moved to fast because the room suddenly tilts nauseatingly. Harry must've heard my sudden sharp breath, because I see him turn around and fix me with a concerned look. "Ally?"

"I'm fine," I hiss, straightening up with the bowl in hand, "just moved too fast is all."

He frowns at me. "If you say so…"

I wave off his concerns as I begin constructing the salad and try to keep my hands steady, because I don't truly know what just happened; I try to shove the dark conclusions (possession, Voldemort, Snape, sickness, flu…) out of my mind.

I was handling a large knife, after all, and it wouldn't do any good to chop off a finger.

.

Dinner passes relatively smoothly, save for the barely concealed barbs at my brother and I along with opinions on what might have made us 'delinquents'. As Harry and I clear the table, Uncle Vernon pulls out the brandy and pours his sister a glass.

"A little more…a little more…ah, there's the ticket." Aunt Marge hums contentedly as she downs a large gulp of the amber liquor.

I glance hesitantly at Uncle Vernon, hoping to escape upstairs, but one look says we'll have to sit it out.

Aunt Marge smacks her lips loudly as she set down her glass, letting Ripper slurp out of the glass loudly. My lips twitch faintly in disgust as I watch this, and Aunt Marge catches me looking. "What are you smirking at? Where did you say you sent these two, Vernon?"

"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurable Delinquents," Uncle Vernon supplies quickly. "It's a high rate facility."

"Ah," Marge nods. "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?"

I share a sly glance with my twin as Uncle Vernon glares at us darkly. "Oh, yes, of course," Harry replies sarcastically.

"All the time," I add for emphasis.

Aunt Marge looks satisfied. "Excellent. I won't have this namby-pamby wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it." She takes another sip and looks at Uncle Vernon. "Still. Mustn't blame yourself for how this one's turned out, Vernon. It all comes down to blood. Bad blood will win out. What is it their father did, Petunia?"

Aunt Petunia shifts in her seat, looking distinctly uncomfortable as I raise a challenging eyebrow at her. "Nothing. Ah, that is, he was unemployed."

I give a quiet snort – somehow I doubt that. My father probably had a job like 'our lot' would – that is, one the Dursleys don't want to acknowledge.

Aunt Marge nods gravely. "Of course. And a drunk, I expect-"

"That's a lie."

I send a surprised look at my normally quiet brother, who had just snapped and was glaring at Aunt Marge.

" _What did you just say?_ " she hisses.

"He _said_ , that's a lie," I repeat, taking a brave step forward. "Our father was not a drunk!"

 _Pop!_ The shocked silence is punctuated by the glass in her hand shattering.

"Oh my goodness!" Aunt Petunia gasps dramatically. "Marge!"

"Not to worry, Petunia. I have a very firm grip," Marge chuckles. "I did the same to Colonel Fubster's glass the other day."

As Aunt Petunia cleans up the shards, Harry and I share a startled glance. _Was that you?_ he mouths at me, and I shake my head. He worries his lips between his teeth as he stares at the glass. I turn back to go into the kitchen and cool down, but I'm stopped when everything tilts again.

I stumble and have to clutch the countertop to keep from falling, breathing in and out through my nose as a wave of nausea and heat washes over me and a ringing develops in my ears.

"Ally?" I hear a voice whisper in my ear. "Allison!"

I glance at Harry, whose bright emerald eyes were wide with slight panic. "I'm fine."

"I don't think-"

" _Fine_ , Harry." My tone leaves no room for conversation as I continue into the living room to make a new batch of coffee as Harry lets out a long suffering sigh behind me.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts as I start the coffee maker and pull out two mugs, one for Aunt Petunia, who liked hers with a dash of mint cream and frothy, and one for Uncle Vernon, who liked his coffee dark and spiked.

Meanwhile, Aunt Marge has recovered from the shock and is still ridiculing my parents.

"…quiet, Vernon. It's not your fault; if there's something wrong on the inside, you can't fix it. You see it all the time with dogs. And it doesn't matter about the father, anyways. In the end it comes down to the mother. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup..."

I whirl around, my blood boiling, as Harry snaps his head over to stare at Aunt Marge. "SHUT UP!" we both roar, finally fed up with her slander of our parents, who were _dead_ and couldn't defend themselves.

Everything happens at once; there's a low rumbling sound, followed by every single glass or porcelain item in the house breaking – all the glasses, the china, the widows; everything.

Then Aunt Marge's hands begin to swell. Her cheeks puff out.

A button tears free of her cardigan and hits Dudley square in the forehead with a metallic ping, knocking him to the floor. Aunt Marge herself begins to swell, more buttons breaking free and flying all over the place as yet more glass explodes, embedding shards in the walls and ceiling.

Everyone watches, shocked, as Aunt Marge becomes fully round, like an over-inflated balloon, and lifts from her chair. "Vernon!"

Uncle Vernon chases after her as she bounces gently against the ceiling and rolls out to the backyard.

"MARGE!" Uncle Vernon grabs her hand to keep her from floating away, and Ripper growls and bites at his ankles.

Due to all the noise, Harry and I are allowed to slip unnoticed through the living room to stand by the back door.

We watch as Aunt Marge steadily floats upwards, Uncle Vernon holding both her hands but barely on the ground.

I see his hands slipping and the fear on his face ever before Aunt Marge starts screaming, " _Vernon_. Don't you dare –"

And then his grasp slips and he falls to his knees, horror on his face as he watches his sister float away.

My eyes instantly find my brother's' both of us sharing a looking of horror and fear before I turn on my heel to race back inside the house.

I meant to go up to our bedroom, but I come to a dead stop once I see the state of the kitchen.

Glass littered the floor, pots and pans were scattered everywhere, and some of the wooden cabinets were twisted beyond recognition. Aunt Petunia was still shrieking outside, Ripper was barking his head off, and Dudley was passed out under the table.

My blood goes cold for a second before I remember what caused the outburst in the first place – Aunt Marge.

Pure fury overtakes me as I remember what she had said about my parents, my brother, and me. I might not have known my parents very well, and I might not be able to remember a single thing about them, but I'm sure anyone in the wizarding world can attest that James Potter was _not_ a drunk, _not_ unemployed (I heard somewhere that he was an Auror), and that Lily Potter nee. Evans was an _angel_.

I gnash my teeth and let out a low growl as I stomp across the kitchen, my shoes crunching glass beneath their soles. I jog up the stairs, taking them two at a time before flinging open the door to the smallest bedroom in the house, the one I shared with Harry.

I quickly pack our trunks, haphazardly throwing books in and making the Monster books were still secured. I stomp my heel down onto a specific spot on the floor, causing one of the floorboards to flip up and reveal two wands, a photograph of our parents, and a black stuffed dog that was the only thing I could connect to my childhood. I put the picture and the dog into my trunk, grab my brother's wand, slip my wand into my back pocket, and grab my trunk, dragging it down the stairs with loud repeated thumps.

I round the corner just in time to see Uncle Vernon let loose on Harry. "YOU BRING HER BACK! YOU BRING HER BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"

"No!" Harry shouts back defiantly.

"And even if we wanted to," I cut in, stepping up behind my twin, "we couldn't. We don't exactly know how!"

"Well you knew how to get her up there!" Uncle Vernon shouts, his face an ugly purple as his mustache quivers and a vein pops in his forehead. "So you _better_ bring her down!"

I sigh before replying, turning to hand Harry his holly-and-phoenix feather wand. "Here. Your trunk is packed and waiting."

He just nods, takes his wand, and disappears upstairs as I turn back to my uncle. "I _better_? Or what?"

"Or… _or_ …or I'll…!" He shakes a fist dangerously close to my face, and I instantly take a step back and draw my wand.

"You'll _what_ , Dursley?" I ask him, my voice dropping to a dangerous calm, the way it always does when I'm just about to explode. I've been told – mainly by Ron – that seeing me like this is frankly terrifying; he says my eyes darken at least three shades, my voice sends shivers down spines, and that even a two year old wizard or witch could sense the magic pooling around me.

Uncle Vernon, however, just smirks smugly at me. "You're not allowed to do magic out of school. They won't have you now. You've got nowhere to go."

I pause and lower my wand only slightly. "Well, at least it's not _here_."

Any response he might've had was interrupted by a series of loud thuds, and I turn to see my brother standing there, fury on his face and wand and owl in hand as he lets go of his trunk. "I'm packed."

I nod sharply. "We were just finishing our…chat…down here. Let's go."

We both grab our trunks and head for the door.

"Where will you go?" Uncle Vernon taunts to our backs. "Nowhere to go for freaks like you two! Not even your freakhouse of a school!"

I just shake my head as I haul my trunk out the door and help Harry with his.

"BOY, GIRL, SO HELP ME…"

I pause once we're out on the sidewalk, and Harry sends me an urgent look. "Ally, come on…"

I wave him off with a flap of a hand as I spin to face the house, because I can't stand one last jab. "Aunt Marge deserved what she got!"

Harry shakes his head and tugs me back to my trunk with a muttered "Not worth it."

I glance back once more before grabbing my trunk, and Harry and I vanish into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Darkness doesn't suit Privet Drive.

I think it has something to do with the stereotypical nature of the neighborhood; the perfect flower beds, the cookie cutter houses, the gossiping neighbors…it was practically Suburbia.

Which means that abnormal things, things that go bump in the night, didn't fit that image at all and were generally disliked. People closed their shutters before the sun went down and dismissed all stories of monsters as hogwash and utter nonsense.

Harry and I were also shunned and denied; even if they did just think that we were delinquents and would never know the truth about House Number Four.

We didn't fear the dark, which was a good thing because we were currently sitting in it, alone except for each other.

I sigh and gaze up at the sky as I use my trunk as a seat in the middle of Mongolia Crescent. "We didn't think this through, did we?"

"No," Harry confirms softly. "We didn't."

I sigh and rub at my eyes with a soft groan. "So…Aunt Marge…"

"Blew up. Along with the kitchen."

"Did you do Aunt Marge or-"

"I think I did," he nods slowly. "I just wanted her to _stop_ …and then…" he holds up his hands helplessly. "So you did the kitchen?"

"Yeah," I chuckle dryly, "it appears that my anger is _slightly_ more destructive than yours."

"Slightly?" Harry snorts. "You destroyed all of the glass. And china. _All of it._ "

I give him a 'what can you do' shrug and run a hand through my hair. "Where do we go from here?"

Harry looks thoughtful for a moment. "I think we need to get to Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron usually has rooms, and we need money from Gringotts if we're going on the run."

I stare at him for a moment as I realize the scope of what happened – mainly, we did _magic._ Harry and I, both 13 and still underage, did magic outside of Hogwarts. We had already been warned a year prior because Dobby the house elf did magic (long story), and if the Ministry found out about these latest events we would be in serious trouble.

I hiss out a breath. "Right then. How do we get to London?"

"Well…we could…no, that won't work for both of us. What if we…"

A slight crackle draws my attention, and I whip around with my hand on my wand. "Harry."

"What if we could…"

" _Harry_."

"Could we-"

"Harry Potter!" I hiss and my brother finally looks at me.

"What?"

I nod my head towards the opposite sidewalk, and we share a glance before Harry draws his wand and mutters " _Lumos._ "

A blinding light burst out of the tip of his wand, and I raise a hand to shield my eyes as I blink quickly.

I can't see anything across the street, but the noise had to come from _somewhere_ , right?

"Ally, look!" my brother gasps as he points at something in the shadows.

My gaze follows his finger until it lands on a pair of gleaming orbs – eyes. Animal's eyes, from the looks of things, because only they can reflect light like that.

Harry moves into a defensive position, a spell waiting on his tongue, but I put a hand on his arm to stop.

Ignoring his questioning gaze, I narrow my eyes at the _something_ across the street. Something deep inside me was stirring as I stood there, something in the dark recess was whispering, urging me to get closer… _closer_ …

I shake my head, remembering Ron's words from last year – _hearing voices wasn't good, even in the wizarding world._

"Ally?" my twin's worried voice breaks through my thoughts.

I glance back across the street and the eyes are gone. "Nothing, Harry. It was nothing."

Everything is silent for a moment, just the two of us standing there, in the dark, with trunks full of spell books and an owl.

A clatter sounds down the street, causing both Harry and I to jump suddenly. I stumble backwards and fall back over my trunk, ending up splayed over it while Harry trips over his, sending his sprawling and his wand flying into the bushes.

Suddenly there's a deafening crack and two beams of light appear in the night. Headlights, to be precise, which were attached to a bus. _The Knight Bus_ , it reads.

I give it one glance before jogging off to search the bushes for Harry's wand.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," I hear a weary voice say behind me, "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening." There's a pause. "Wha' choo doin' down there?"

"I fell over," Harry replies defensively.

"Wha' choo fall over for?"

"I didn't do it on purpose," he grumbles, and there's a shuffling sounds as he regains his feet.

I spot his wand in the dirt and grab it, wiping it off with the hem of my t-shirt before I jog back over to my brother. "Here you go."

He takes it and we both grab our trunks as Stan, the conductor and a very pale looking man that couldn't have been a few years older than us, waves us inside the bus. "Well come on then. Don't wait for the grass to grow."

I grab my trunk and follow Harry into the bus.

And I'm…surprised, I think, is the best word for it.

There aren't any seats, just beds, and only a few are occupied. But the smaller details catch my eye: the brass needs polishing, the curtains look moth-eaten, and there's a shrunken head hanging from the rearview mirror.

The driver is just staring off into space, sweat staining his shirt as he mumbles to himself.

I barely suppress a shudder as Stan leads us past an old disheveled, dreaming wizard – "Not _now_ , I'm picking slugs," – and to a pair of bunk beds. "You two can take these. Where to this evenin'?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," I inform him as I shove my trunk out of the way and clamber onto the top bunk as Stan settles and flicks open a newspaper. I squint at the front cover – a moving photograph of a man that looks incredibly deranged, snarling at the camera as he holds up an Azkaban prisoner ID number plaque.

While the expression on his face scares me, something else makes me stare at the picture. The man looks familiar, like I've seen him somewhere before but I can't remember where exactly.

I'm about to ask who he is when another wave of dizziness and nausea, this one the worst so far, hits me. I breathe through a clenched jaw as I curl into my bed.

"…that?" I return to reality in time to hear Harry question Stan.

"That's Sirius Black. Don' tell me you ne'er heard o' Sirius Black?"

Harry and I shake our heads, my curiosity only peaking.

"Why should I have heard of him?" I question, and Stan blinks at me in shock.

"A murderer, he is. Got 'imself locked up in Azkaban for it."

I resume staring at the man in the photograph as Harry carries on with the questioning. "How did he escape?"

"Tha's the question, isn't it? He's the firs' that's done it. Gives me the collywobbles thinking he's out there, though, I'll tell you that. Big supporter of You-Know-'Oo, Black was. Reckon you heard o' him."

I give a humorless laugh that sounds a bit like a bark. "You could say that."

Suddenly the buss lurches and all the beds, with people still on them, are sent sliding every which way.

I groan as I steady myself and wait for the room to stop spinning. I glance down at Harry who was fixing his glasses and picking himself up off the floor. "What was that?"

"Don't ask me – whoa!"

I look up to the front of the bus just in time to see two double decker buses not even six inches apart headed our way. Before I can scream, though, the bus driver – Ernie I think – presses a button and the bus squishes together and zips between the buses.

I let out a breath as the bus returns to normal, the shrunken head in the front groaning about how much he hates that part.

I can't blame the guy…or girl.

Soon enough, though, we arrive at the Leaky Cauldron, stopping in front of a car and just kissing the bumper enough to make the alarm blare.

Stan helps Harry and I drag our trunks and Hedwig off the bus, zooming away as soon the doors swish closed behind us.

I straighten my clothes and attempt to tame my hair as a voice sounds behind us. "Mr. and Miss Potter, finally."

I spin to face Tom, the barkeep here. "Hello."

He nods and silences the car alarm with the flick of a wand, leading us inside the pub.

There aren't many people here tonight, save for a road-weary man that sits with a self-stirring cup of coffee.

Tom leads us inside, showing us to a room with two twin beds inside. "Here you are, then. Breakfast in the morning."

He leaves with that, and I drag my trunk over to one of the beds, collapsing onto it and not even bothering to change as my eyelids droop.

I push all thoughts of Sirius Black: escaped mass murderer, and why I seem to recognize him, out of my mind as I fall into sleep's embrace.


	4. Chapter 4

"Minister Fudge." I nod curtly as I look across the table at the short, slightly pudgy man in a pinstripe suit.

"Miss Potter," The Minter of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, grins back at me, then looks to my left, at my brother. "Mister Potter." He waves Tom over and requests a pot of tea and some crumpets as he sits down. "Well then, where shall we start?"

"Aunt Marge?" Harry suggests uncertainly.

Fudge nods as he pours three cups of tea out. "Eat, you two, you look about dead on your feet. Anyhow, we have dealt with the situation with your Aunt. A few People from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad were dispatched to Privet Drive and were about to locate and deflate Miss Dursley, leaving no memory of the incident."

Harry seems to be speechless, just gaping across the table, so I pick up his slack. "Accidental Magic, sir?"

"Ah, yes. Have you heard of it, Miss Potter?"

"Slightly," I admit, "but only in books, really."

He nods. "That's to be expected from someone of your upbringing. Accidental magic, Allison, is common in young children or even in mature adults in times of extreme emotion. It is essentially raw magic bursting out subconsciously, and the effects are usually harmless."

I sip my tea as I consider this. "So we're not going to get in trouble for this?"

"Oh, heavens no! We can't throw someone in jail every single time they have an accident! Plus, I doubt this is the first time you two have done something of this nature, given your parents' power," he reminds us.

I'm suddenly reminded of all the times Harry and I had done 'freakish' stuff before we turned eleven. Harry turning his teacher's hair blue, me making a rubber ball bounce without assistance, Harry's hair growing back, hideous haircut after hideous haircut; then more recently – Harry vanishing the glass at the zoo, the time just before we started first year when I kicked Dudley from across the room…

I share a glance with Harry. _None of it was our fault!_

My anger at the Dursleys' spikes as I turn back to the Minister. "Right. So you found Aunt Marge, the magic wasn't our fault…anything else, sir?"

"You both threw up a big fuss, running like that! Especially under these…circumstances…"

"You mean Black," Harry supplies bluntly.

Fudge nods. "Yes. With an escaped convict on the loose, you two could have been injured."

I don't mention that we could have been injured had we stayed put as well, given the nasty shade of purple Uncle Vernon's face was when we walked out. "We understand, Minister, and we apologize, but we couldn't stay there, not with what was happening."

"Yes, well, I explained the circumstances to them, and they're willing to take you both back next summer if you agree to stay at school for the spring and winter holidays."

"We do that anyways," I r=tell him, just as Harry informs him "We don't ever want to go back."

Fudge grins at us, much like a favorite uncle would.

(He was not my uncle, and I was slightly creeped out by this.)

"Oh, I'm sure you'll change your mind once your anger has a chance to settle. So if that's all, I will say my goodbyes. I do have business to attend to, after all."

We both shake hands with the Minister before he walks out of the room, leaving Harry and I alone.

"So," I grin at my twin. "Now that we're not getting arrested or expelled, whatever shall we do with weeks of precious freedom?"

"Go supplies shopping, for one. We need new books for Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, you need your robes lengthened, and we both need new potions ingredients."

"Fine," I pout. "Spoil all my fun."

.

I did end up admitting that supply shopping was a necessity, though, so all throughout the week Harry and I would stroll down Diagon Alley, popping into a new store each day for a different item.

"What do we need today?"

Harry pulls out his booklist and unfolds it as I peer over his shoulder. "Uh, _Unfogging_ _the_ _Future_ by Cassandra Vablatsky, _Intermediate Transfiguration,_ and _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_. Two copies each."

"Off to Flourish and Botts, then!"

We quickly arrive at the bookstore, passing Neville Longbottom – a fellow Gryffindor third year that was getting reamed out by his force-of-nature grandmother – along the way.

"Hogwarts kids?" the shopkeeper asks as soon as we step in the door, and we nod. He sighs wearily before waving for us to follow as he walks to the back of the store.

I watch as we approach a huge cage filled with books that were snark=ling and biting at each other, pages flying everywhere. The shopkeeper groans quietly as he puts on a pair of tough, leather gloves and reaches for a walking stick for defense.

"That's not necessary," I inform him quickly, "we already have two."

The poor guy looks he's about to cry with relief. "Oh, thank goodness…and I thought we had it bad with the _Invisible Book of Invisibility_ …we never did find them…so, do you need anything else?"

Harry nods and hands him the booklist, and within ten minutes we were walking out with our new textbooks.

"I can't wait to read the new Defense book, maybe we'll finally have a competent teacher!" I tell Harry as we walk back down the Alley.

"Maybe," he chuckles at my excitement, "but I doubt they'll last long, they don't seem to – what's going on?"

I look over as he breaks off his sentence and find a large group of people gathered around Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"I don't know, but come on!" I jog over, Harry just behind me, and duck and weave between throngs of people until we can see the window.

The broom in the window is breathtaking, with perfectly trimmed twigs, a handle I can see my reflection in, and _Firebolt_ engraved in gold calligraphy near the top of the handle.

I glance at the sign next to the broom.

 _** The Firebolt **_

 _This state-of-the-art racing broom sports a stream-lined, superfine handle of ash, treated with a diamond-hard polish and hand-numbered with its own registration number. Each individually selected birch twig in the broomtail has been honed to aerodynamic perfection, giving the firebolt unsurpassable balance and pinpoint precision. The firebolt has an acceleration of 150 miles an hour in ten seconds and incorporates an unbreakable braking charm. Price on request._

I sigh as I turn and pull Harry away. "Come on, you've got a perfectly good Nimbus 2000 that hasn't lost you a game yet. There is no good reason to empty your vault over that."

"You're right," he sighs mournfully. "But it's so pretty…"

"Well, you can dream. Let's go, maybe we can find Ron and Hermione."

We work our way back through the Alley, occasionally stopping to chat with other students we find and recognize along the way.

I'm about to give up hope and resign myself to seeing them September 1st on the train when I spot a head of flaming red head of hair next to a bushy brown one. "Found them! Come on!"

Harry and I walk over and are greeted quite enthusiastically by our two best friends.

"Did you really blow up your Aunt?" Ron asks excitedly by way of greeting.

"Ron!" Hermione scolds as I laugh. "I swear, you don't have an ounce of tact. But in all seriousness, did you?"

"Yeah," I admit, a grin still on my face. "The entire kitchen, too."

Hermione looks at me oddly. "You say that like it's something to be proud of."

"Because it is!" Ron protests. "I can't imagine what Mum would do to me if I blew up my aunt."

"Anyways, the Minister let us off," Harry explains. "I have no clue why."

"It was an accident!" I exclaim at the same time as Ron chuckles, "It's 'cause you're _you_."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Well, whatever the reason, just promise me you won't let it happen again."

I shake my head. "I can't promise that, Hermione. Unless you've finally found out how to make people emotionless robots?" I raise an eyebrow, and she shakes her head reluctantly, seeing my point.

"It's just...you could've been hurt...or in trouble…"

I lean across the table to squeeze her wrist. "I know that. We'll try and be more careful." I glare at Harry, who had so far stayed silent. "Right?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, of course we will," he says hastily with a nervous grin. "So...do you have all your school supplies?"

Ron takes the abrupt change of subject in stride. "Yeah! We've been here all day. I got a new wand, too!" He pulls out a long, thin box and opens it, taking out a slightly longer wand that was a dusty tan color. "Willow, fourteen inches, and unicorn hair!"

"Aw, Ickle Ronniekins has his own wand!" I tease, and he glares at me. "Sorry, couldn't help it."

"Anyways," Hermione sighs exasperatedly, "did you see those new Monster books? I thought the shopkeeper would cry."

"Hagrid sent us two already for our birthday," Harry explains. "So is that all?"

Hermione glances at her purse. "Well, I still have about ten Galleons left. It's my birthday in September, and my parents gave me a little extra money to buy a gift."

"Is it gonna be another book?" Ron groans.

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of a pet. I really want an owl. I mean, Harry's got Hedwig and Ron has Errol-"

"Errol's a family owl," Ron corrects her. "I have Scabbers. And he needs a checkup." He pulls his rat out of his pocket and lays him on the table. "I don't think Egypt was for him."

I glance at the old Weasley family rat, taking in his patchy fur, slightly drooped whiskers, and paw with a missing toe. He did look slightly worse for wear.

"There's a shop right down there," Harry says, pointing to our left. "Come on."

We all gather our bags and trudge down the street, making our way to the Magical Menagerie.

The lady at the counter was busy when we walked in, so we browsed the selections for a while.

I eventually found myself wandering past the cats, toads, snakes, frogs, and rats and into the owl section, and I silently asked myself why I didn't buy one already.

I had enough money, and it's not like I would be wasting my money - owls have proven themselves extremely useful, and sometimes I wonder if Hedwig is closer to Harry than I am. Which is sad.

But, I remind myself, I also didn't want to settle for any old owl. Hedwig was special; to this day, she's the only snowy owl I have ever seen. I wanted something like that, something unique and new.

A yell tears me away from my thoughts, and I whirl around to see a huge ginger cat land on Ron's head.

"Crookshanks, _no!_ " the shopkeeper yells, but it's too late. Scabbers is off the counter and out the door in a flash, Ron and Harry immediately running after him.

Hermione grabs the cat before it can get too far.

I walk over to the shopkeeper. "What was that?"

"That," she sighs, "is Crookshanks. He's part Kneazle, which makes him huge. He's also very temperamental, which means nobody wants him."

"Maybe." I nod over at Hermione, who now had the lion-looking cat curled up in her arms. "I think he's found someone."

"Ally!" Hermione calls me over. "What do you think?"

"I thought you wanted an owl?" I walk over to get a closer look at the cat.

"Yeah, but...this one's just…"

"The one?" I supply, and she nods gratefully. I take a long look at the cat.

He's got scruffy ginger fur, big yellow eyes, and his face looks like he's ran into a brick wall one too many times, but it could be worse. "I suppose he's alright. But what about Scabbers?"

"It won't be a problem," she assures me confidently. "Crookshanks will be in our dormitory, Scabbers will be in theirs. No big deal. Now, are you getting anything, or should we go find them?"

"I didn't find anything, no." I reply, following her to the counter and standing by as she pays for her new cat.

We make our way back up the street, walking for about ten minutes before we bump into the boys.

"You bought that monster?!"

"Yes, Ronald, I did. And this monster has a name, you know!"

I chuckle slightly as we make our way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry and I lagging a few steps behind to listen to Ron and Hermione bicker.

"You let her get the cat?" Harry asks me with raised eyebrows, and I shake my head.

"Who was I to object? It's her decision. Plus, you know her, if I were to tell her she can't, she would, if only just on principle."

"That's true," he admits, then glances at the pair ahead of us. "This is going to be interesting."

"Yeah, it is."

I don't bother to ask if he's talking about the Crookshanks vs. Scabbers debate, the mass murderer on the loose, or something else in the plethora of possibilities we have in front of us for 'Things That Could Go Wrong This Year: 3rd Edition,'.


	5. Chapter 5

September 1st arrived with a sunny, cloudless morning and a boatload of chaos at the Leaky Cauldron.

I, for one, tried to at least fake sleep for as long as I could, but eventually the noise of eight other people (seven of them redheads) stomping around near me made me peel myself out of bed. I blearily dig through my trunk for a moment, eventually pulling out pair of old jeans.

I don't find anything else that's clean, though, so I just swipe one of my brother's old Weasley sweaters – red with the Gryffindor lion on the front – and trudging my way down for breakfast.

"Are you sure that's a cat? Looks more like a pig with hair if you ask me!"

"Oh that's rich, coming from you – you own a used shoe brush!"

I roll my eyes as I make my way down the stairs and purposely walk between Ron and Hermione. "You're arguing again? Lovely thing to hear first thing in the morning. Really, guys, thanks."

They stop to look at me, slightly stunned.

Hermione finds her voice first. "Oh, hi Ally. Good morning."

"Mornin' Hermione…" I interrupt myself with a yawn, "…are you excited?"

"Of course! Third years get new electives! I'm so excited for Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies…"

I give her an amused look as I grab a roll off the table and butter it. "Are you planning to, you know, do things like eat or sleep? At all?"

"And why would you need to take Muggle Studies anyways?" Ron asks, the earlier argument briefly forgotten. "You're a Muggle-born! Your parents are Muggles!"

"Yes, but I wanted to see them from a different perspective!"

"Well, look at it this way: there's _at least_ one class you won't fail. And that's minimum. Who do you think is teaching Defense?"

"Oh, I hope it's someone good!" Ron says hopefully. "Lockhart was barmy!"

"He was _not_ -"

"Quit trying to defend him, Hermione-"

I sigh and shake my head as they dive into another bickering match, eventually wandering over to the Weasley matriarch, who was bustling around like a madwoman to make sure everyone had everything. "Do you need any help, Mrs. Weasley?"

"What? Oh, good morning, Allison dear!" she pauses for a moment to grin at me. "No, I have everything under control, don't worry. Have you eaten enough?"

I smile at Ron's mother, because some things never change. "I was just on my way to grab more sausage. If Ron doesn't eat it all, that is. I swear they're nothing but stomach."

"Oh, trust me dear, I know," she gives me a knowing smile. "I've raised a few. I'll make sure Ginny rescues some potatoes for you, I know like them."

I can't help the slight heat that rises to my face even though I should be used to her caring nature by now. "Thank you."

She just pats me on the shoulder and then rushes of to do something or other. I grab some sausages, just like I had said, and grab a seat at a nearby table.

Until a shuffling sound makes me look up into the face of Percy Weasley.

"Hello Allison, how are you this morning?" Percy asks with his usual air of dignity, still being the only person I know under 18 that refuses to call me by any variation of a nickname.

I roll my eyes at him. "Percy, would it kill you to call me by any nickname?"

He just sniffs and fusses with his horned. "Well…have you seen my Head Boy badge anywhere?"

"No, I don't think I have. But it'll turn up eventually, I'm sure."

"I hope so," he sighs anxiously. "Because if I don't find it, then I don't have my post! What if McGonagall says-"

"Well then!" I stand quickly, sensing a worried tirade coming. "It's been nice visiting, good luck with your badge, I gotta go, bye!"

I beat a hasty retreat upstairs, both to get away from the third oldest Weasley and double check my trunk that I have everything.

I make sure I have textbooks for Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions, Divination, Astronomy, Herbology, History of Magic, and I rechecked the straps on my Care of Magical Creatures book for fear of it devouring everything else in my trunk.

I was really looking forward to a few subjects this year: Defense, depending on the teacher and Transfiguration, which I loved, and I had read somewhere that my wand wood, Ebony, had an affinity for.

I make sure I've got my robes folded neatly before I slam my trunk closed, slowly tracing the A.L.P engraved on the top.

"Ally! Hurry up!" a voice calls up the stairs.

"I'm coming!" I call back. I grab my trunk and drag it out of the room, making a mental note to ask someone over 17 to put a feather-light charm on it later.

* * *

We arrive at the train station with not much trouble, given the sheer numbers of the group and the fact that we were all carry at least one trunk, Hermione had a cat carrier, and Percy and Harry had owls.

Of course Mrs. Weasley had to give us all tearful goodbyes, especially Ginny, after what happened last year. Fred and George made their usual promises to stay out of trouble with their fingers crossed behind their backs, Ron had to duck all attempts at motherly affection, and Percy had totted off to greet Penelope Clearwater, a seventh year Ravenclaw and his girlfriend.

Mr. Weasley approached Harry and I while everyone else was busy getting their stuff on the train. "Allison, Harry, may I talk to you in private for a moment?"

I share a bewildered look with my twin, alarm bells going off in my head. "Sure…"

He leads us over to a secluded spot against the wall, a few feet away from the others. "There's something you need to know before you get to school."

I groan and let my head fall back to hit the brick wall behind it. "Is someone trying to kill us again?"

"Yes," he deadpans, and I stare at him.

"I...was not expecting that answer."

"In all seriousness…" he sighs. "Have either of you heard of Sirius Black?"

Harry nods. "Yeah, the mass murderer that escaped Azkaban. Why?"

Mr. Weasley suddenly looks distinctly uncomfortable. "They say...that...while Black was in Azkaban, he would be muttering "They're at Hogwarts, They're at Hogwarts,". You can probably guess who he was talking about."

"Us." Harry looks confused. "But why would come looking for us, out of all people?"

"Could he be wanting revenge?" I guess hesitantly. "Finish...the job?"

Mr. Weasley. "He probably wants to kill the only two Potters remaining alive."

"So cheerful," I snort. "Really, it is."

The Weasley patriarch gives me a stern glare. "I need you to swear not to do anything stupid this year."

"Our _stupid_ acts usually save the school and maybe even the world," I point out, and this time Harry glares at me.

"Do you have a serious bone in your body?"

I shrug noncommittally as Mr. Weasley sighs. "Enough. I need your word - both of you - that you will not go looking for Black."

"Why would we go _looking_ for someone that wants to kill us?" Harry asks incredulously.

"You'll see," Mr. Weasley answers cryptically. "Swear to me."

"I-"

"Arthur, hurry up!"

I give Mr. Weasley an apologetic look. "We'll try, I promise. Come on, Harry!"


	6. Chapter 6

Harry and I slip onto the train just as the whistle starts to sound, quickly hunting down the compartment near the back where Hermione and Ron had planted themselves.

Harry gets straight to the point. "Hermione, Ron, I need you talk to you alone."

"Okay," Ron quickly agrees. "Ginny, get out."

I can hear a scoff before a "Well _that's_ nice," and then the youngest Weasley steps out into the corridor.

"Ginger!" I squeal happily, using my reserved nickname for her. ( _Gin_ ny = _Gin_ ger. And she's a redhead. I'm so clever, aren't I?)

"Ally!" she beans at me. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Well it's not like we go to the same school or anything…ow!" I rub my shoulder mournfully where she's just whacked it. "Don't damage the merchandise!"

She rolls her eyes at me, giving the compartment door one last glance before we start moving away. "What do you think they're talking about in there?"

"You'll find out soon enough," I reply vaguely with a flap of a hand.

She glares at me. "You know something, don't you?"

"Can't tell you, sorry."

"Ally!" she whines indignantly.

"Ginny!" I match her tone.

She narrows her eyes, her voice dropping almost an octave in what might be an imitation of her father at his sternest. " _Allison._ "

" _Ginevra_."

She gives up all seriousness to stick her tongue out at me, and I copy her as we arrive in front of a compartment door and she stops to knock. "There's someone I want you to meet."

A dreamy voice responds "Come in," and Ginny pushes the door open. "Luna!"

"Hello Ginny," a blonde girl with light blue eyes gives her a small grin over the top of the magazine she was hold upside down.

"Luna, this is Ally, a friend of mine," Ginny gives me a small shove forward. "Ally, this is Luna Lovegood. She's in my year, just Ravenclaw."

"Nice to meet you," Luna gives me a bright, albeit slightly dreamy, grin. "You wouldn't happen to be Allison Potter, would you? The Girl Who Fought?"

I lean back against the doorframe. "So that's what they're calling me now?" Ginny shrugs apologetically. "But yeah, that's me. Please tell me you don't care about that."

"Pleasure to meet you. And of course not. The Nargles like to judge based on character, not fame."

I shot Ginny a confused look. _Nargles?_

 _You'll get used to it eventually,_ she mouths back, and I grin as I decide to sit down across from Luna. "Well, I hope that's a good thing."

"Oh, it is," she assures me.

I glance at her magazine. "What're you reading?"

"It's a magazine called the Quibbler. Daddy's the editor." She grabs another one out of her bag. "Want one."

"Maybe later, thanks."

She nods and I settle back to stare out the window at the rain and gloomy grey skies and listen to the wind howl and rattle against the train. "Is the weather supposed to be this bad?"

Ginny shrugs from next to Luna. "It's still summer, maybe it's just a daily storm."

"Probably," I nod. "So, Ginny, what-"

I'm cut off as the lights flicker a few times before finally dying out completely.

"Guys!"

"Alright," I can hear a voice from my left. "Stay here. I'm going to find out what's going on."

I can hear some shuffled steps before there's the scraping sound and a surprised yelp, followed by a few thuds.

"Ginny?"

I perk up at the familiar voice. "Harry?"

"Ally? You here?"

"Right here," I grope around for a moment.

"Hey! Watch it!"

"Oh, sorry Ron."

"Who just kicked me?"

"Who's that?"

I sigh. "Guys, meet Luna Lovegood, second year Ravenclaw. Luna, meet my brother Harry Potter and…"

"Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you."

"Ron Weasley. Pleasure."

"Okay, now that you're all acquainted," I call out into the darkness, "what the bloody hell is going on?"

"I don't know!" Ron whines. "Don't you think I'd be _doing_ something if I knew?"

"I'm not so sure of that, Ronald!" I snap. "I _am_ sure of the fact that you-"

A small squeak interrupts us. "Guys," Ginny whimpers. "What was that?"

"What was _what_?"

A howling sound swet through the train – like wind, but inside. There was also an odd swishing sound.

"That."

"I don't know," Ron soothes his sister, acting – for once – like the big brother he was. "Calm down, we'll be alright."

"We better be," Hermione grumbles. "I need to talk to Professor Burbage about-"

She's interrupted by a high-pitched scream echoing down the hallway, and my breath catches in my throat. " _Guys_ -"

"What was-"

"Who-"

"I really-"

" _Oh my god!_ "

" _Lumos_!"

An orb of light erupts from Hermione's wand, showering us all in light and we all check each other over and relax slightly.

Until someone notices what's in the doorway.

And now the scream is mine.

Because there's something floating near the ceiling. It's not like that's an unusual occurrence around here, but this…

Whatever _this_ is, it's got a long, black, tattered cloak covering a weirdly skeletal face (if you could call it that) that had no eyes, no nose, only a hole where the mouth is usually.

My eyes twitch downwards for a split second and I catch a glimpse of a hand. The skin looks like something that's been dead and decaying for a long, _long_ time, all grey and wet looking…

The hood of the cloak shifts slightly and the thing takes in a long, breath, and I don't think it's only trying to get air.

A chill settles over all of us, and something inside me gets colder and colder, eventually feeling like my heart froze.

A small wail escapes my lips and my vision blurs as the thing floats closer to me, it's mouth hole opened eagerly.

I can't do anything as my vision goes black and the voices invade my head.

" _Padfoot, she looks just like you!"_

" _That's kind of to be expected, Prongs."_

" _I still don't see how this is possible."_

" _Shut it, Moony, some things aren't scientifically explainable. The miracle birth of Padslet is one of them."_

The three voices fade, soon replaced by two of the same.

" _I still don't see…"_

" _I'm sorry, Padfoot, I really am."_

" _It's alright, Prongs. I get it."_

" _But I really wish this wasn't necessary! We're separating two people that should never have to be apart! I've got a bad feeling…"_

And they fade out and change again.

" _WHY?! WHY THEM? What did they ever do to you, you snake-faced creep!"_

" _Peter…"_

" _Rat…should've known…"_

" _No, no no no…"_

" _NEVER! WHY, WHY DID YOU DO IT?"_

" _I'm not insane…I'm not insane…"_

"Ally? Ally!"

"…Hermione?"

"You're awake! Oh, thank Merlin!"

I accept her hand as she pulls me up, and I look around to see Ron helping Harry up off the floor and Ginny and Luna watching us with stunned expression.

Harry looks dazed. "Who screamed?"

I shrug. "I couldn't tell you. Hermione?"

"Um…nobody screamed. You both just sort of…fainted, and then starting twitching wildly." She shivers, and Ginny loops an arm around her shoulders.

Harry and I share a look. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

I sigh. "So where did that thing go?"

Luna shrugs. "It was quite sudden, really. Someone was talking, then there was this silver light, and it was…gone. Do you think it was the Wrackspurts?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "The world may never know."

Ron pokes his head out the door. "I think there's a professor on the train!"

"What? Let me see!" I pick myself up off the floor and make my way over to the door.

"Did anyone else encounter a Dementor?" a soft male voice asked down the corridor.

I raise my hand. "Me, sir."

He walks over to me and seems to study me for a moment before he hands me a small, silver object that I immediately recognize as a chocolate frog. "Ms. Potter."

I pause with the frog half unwrapped. "Who are you and how do you know my name?"

"My name is Professor Remus Lupin, I'm teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. I've tried to make it a habit to memorize as many student names as I could."

I give the chocolate in my hands a suspicious look, and the Professor seems to guess my thoughts.

"Don't worry," he chuckles,"it's perfectly safe. I promise."

I hold his gaze for a moment before shrugging and unwrapping the frog, stuffing it in my mouth as I read the card. "Darn it," I moan after I've swallowed. "I _always_ get this one. I already see enough of the guy all over the Common Room!"

Professor Lupin glances at my card of Godric Gryffindor. "So you're a Gryffindor, then?"

"Mmhmm," I nod. "And I'm proud of it."

"They all are," he nods. "Here, why don't you go give these to your friends?" He holds out a handful of frogs.

I mentally count to make sure there's enough before I nod. "I will. See you in class, Professor."

"And you as well, Miss Potter."

I slip back inside the compartment to find Hermione and Luna already in their robes, red and blue respectively.

"You're looking much better," Hermione praises appreciatively. "What did the trick?"

"Chocolate." I hand out the chocolate frogs before grabbing a bundle of clothing from my trunk. "I'm going to go change into my robes, be right back."

It doesn't take that long to find a bathroom, and I quickly shed the Muggle clothing, quickly shrugging on the school uniform, including red and gold tie and red-lined robes with the Gryffindor crest. My shiny black shoes were a bit like flats, except they had a thicker sole, a closed-in top, and a shiny silver buckle on the outside of the ankle.

I quickly jog back to the corridor, where everyone was now robed and rushing around to get all off their stuff packed.

"Look out!"

I quickly move out of the way as a ginger blur streaks past me, followed by Hermione. I slide the compartment door closed so Crookshanks can't get far.

"Thanks, Ally. Your trunk's already in order."

I nod at her in thanks as we feel the train grind to a stop.

We were here.

.

Before long, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were trudging up to the brilliant castle we called both home and school from September to June, Luna gone off with some members of her own house and Ginny with her yearmates.

"Well, well, well…"

I sigh at the usual drawl and slowly turn to face speaker, a boy with slicked back platinum blonde hair. "Malfoy."

"Potter, Potterette, Weasel, Mudblood-" we all snarl at that last word "-surprised you could make it back."

"And why wouldn't we?" I reply bravely.

He shrugs. "Well, two of you blew up a relative, and I'm surprised the Weasels could afford to come back."

"I don't know if you've read the paper recently," I snap, "but anyone with half a brain would know that Mr. Weasley recently won a contest and found some income. _Clearly_ you don't fit those requirements."

"Like you would know."

"I happen to surround myself with intelligent people, unlike you," I retort, my eyes sweeping over Crabbe and Goyle.

"Intelligent people?" Malfoy asks in an amused tone. "Is that what they're calling it now? An airheaded 'hero', a few blood traitors, and a Mud-"

"Shut it, Malfoy," I growl, "before you find your wand in a place where you don't want it to be."

"Oh, I'm so scared. Come on, I heard you _fainted_ when the Dementors even came close. How am I supposed to be scared of you?"

I growl and make a move forward, but a hand reaches out to grab my wrist and pull me back slightly.

"Come on, Ally, it's not worth it."

I sigh as Harry pulls me backwards a few steps before shaking him off and brushing off my robes. "I just want to knock a little sense into his gleaming blonde head."

"Don't worry," Ron assures me as we make our way up the front steps of the castle, "we all do."

I grin at him as we find seats at our house table, exchanging greetings with other Gryffindors before Dumbledore clears his throat and attracts all of our attention.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast...as you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

"They guard _Azkaban_?" I lean over to ask my brother in a whisper. "Remind me never to commit any crime of any sort."

"No kidding."

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks."

Harry, Ron, and I glanced at each other with slightly apprehensive eyes.

"It is also not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors," he said.

I roll my eyes as Percy puffs out his chest.

"On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry and I are among those that clap the loudest.

"As to our second new appointment…well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his game keeping duties."

The applause, led by Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, is exceptionally loud at the Gryffindor table.

"This explains so much!" I tell Hermione over the noise, and she nods in understanding. "I mean, really, a monster – literally – book!"

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore concludes. "Let the feast begin!"


	7. Chapter 7

Dumbledore called Harry and I to his office on the fourth day of term, pulling me out of Transfiguration, where I had almost mastered making a frog into a teacup.

The only explanation he offered was a note.

 _Mister and Miss Potter,_

 _Please come and see me in my office immediately. Professor McGonagall has been informed and the necessary arrangements have been made for the completion of your assignments._

 _Headmaster Dumbledore._

 _P.S.: I like Blood Pops._

I look up from the note and at my brother as he grabs his bag. "What do you think he needs?"

Harry just shrugs. "We haven't done anything relatively dangerous…yet."

I grab my bag and follow him out of the classroom, giving Ron and Hermione what I hoped was a reassuring (not nervous) smile. "Well," I muse as I catch up to my twin, "at least we know the password."

He glances at the note in confusion. "What are Blood Pops?"

I shrug. "How would I know? I hope they're artificial blood, though, or else I'm worried about our dear Professor."

Harry says nothing in response, but I can see his lips twitch up slightly.

We eventually find the right gargoyle, and I give the paper one more glance before declaring "Blood Pops."

It jumps aside, so I tuck the note into the pocket of my robes before leading the way up the winding staircase

Halfway up, I pause as my stomach suddenly flips and colored spots dance in front of my eyes. My stomach cramps and shivers, forcing to bend almost in half with pain and forcing me to brace myself against the cool stone wall next to me.

"Ally?" Harry asks softly, worry shading his tone as he kneels next to me. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I gasp as the pain slowly fades and my vision returns to normal, although a little blurrier than normal, but I toss that off to needing a new prescription and remind myself to ask Madam Pomfrey about it. "I'm okay."

"No, you aren't," he argues. "That's the fourth time that's happened in the last month, and they are getting worse."

"You don't even know what it is," I remind him as I resume climbing the stairs.

"Neither do you," he grumbles, but lets it go.

I knock softly on the door, waiting for a soft voice to call "Enter," before nudging it open and stepping inside. "Professor Dumbledore."

"Ah, Harry, Allison!" he waves us to the seats opposite his desk. "Please come sit."

I settle into a chair, politely refusing a lemon drop and waiting for Harry to sit next to me before turning an expectant gaze on the headmaster.

He clears his throat. "Professor Lupin told me you two had taken ill on the train?"

"Yes, but he took care of it. Might I ask what happened, sir?"

He sighs and twists his hands in a gesture of apparent nervousness. "You were the subject of a Dementor attack."

"You mentioned those in your speech," Harry notices. "What are they?"

" _They_ are the guards of Azkaban, the wizarding prison."

"What do they do?"

"Dementors…they feed on souls. They're meant to take the souls of the evil, dark prisoners, eventually either turning them insane or leaving them in a vegetative state."

"So, a Dementor attack would be…" I break off and stare at Dumbledore in shock. "They tried to take our _souls_?!"

Dumbledore nods gravely.

"Hold on," Harry cuts in. "All of our friends have souls too. How come they didn't faint?"

"Because souls, for a large part, are comprised of memories. Your friends – Miss Granger, the Weasleys, and Miss Lovegood – all have happy memories; which means the Dementors don't want their souls. You, on the other hand…"

"Only have memories of death and destruction," I finish quietly. "Save for a few."

Dumbledore nods. "This made the Dementors especially attracted to you two, unfortunately."

Harry nods slowly. "But what about the screaming? I could swear I heard someone screaming…" I nod along with his statement.

The headmaster droops slightly. "That was…another _side effect_ , if you will. The Dementors also show your worst memory, forcing it to replay again and again inside your head until you go insane."

I can't help the shudder that makes its way down my back. _The prisoners have every right to go insane after that._

"And, as it turns out, Harry, Allison, your worst memory is the night Lily and James died. The screaming was most likely your mother-"

"But I didn't hear that!" I protest, suddenly confused. "I heard two males, one was named Padfoot and the other was Prongs. Oh, and this one guy named Moony. They seemed happy, but the last scene was loud, and mentioned someone named Peter, asking him why he did something…Professor?" I glance over to see Dumbledore suddenly very pale and showing his years. "What is it?"

"Allison..." he suddenly looks _very_ old. "There is something you should know."

"Okay..." I shift in my seat. "What's going on?"

Dumbledore sighs and looks everywhere besides my eyes. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely truthful with you."

"About...what?"

"Who you are."

"Who I..." I crinkle my eyebrows. "I don't understand, sir."

"Can you tell me who you are?" I give him a strange look. "Humor an old man."

"Okay then. My name is Allison Lily Potter, I'm 13, I'm a witch attending my 3rd year at Hogwarts," I recite easily. "Anything else?"

"Parents?"

"James and Lily Potter, and you know they're dead, Professor."

He nods slowly, seemingly mulling over my answer before shaking his head. "I'm afraid you're wrong."

"What?"

"How is any of that _wrong_?" Harry exclaims from behind me, and I jump, having forgotten he was even there. "What else could it be?"

Dumbledore gives my brother a curious look. "Harry, don't you have a potions class to be in at the moment? I cannot imagine Professor Snape would be happy, should you be late."

"But-" Harry gives the headmaster and I incredulous glances. "I-but-you-"

"I'll be okay," I promise him softly. "Come on."

He gives me one last look before trudging out the door at a mournful pace.

"Now then," I turn back to Dumbledore. "You were in the middle of disproving my identity?"

"In a way, yes. I didn't think you would want many witnesses." He flicks his wand a piece of parchment appears on the desk in front of me. "That should do."

I glance down and read:

 _My dear Orissa,_

 _If you're reading this, it means your entire life has been somewhat of a lie. Sorry._

 _You've been placed under some heavy concealment charms for the past thirteen years, and they should be wearing off by now. When they do, you'll be different. In a good way, but not what you're used to._

 _This letter also means that I'm not...there. I'm most likely dead, and I heavily apologize for whatever stupid stunt I pulled and ended up kiling me. Hopefully Prongs, Moony, or - heck- even Wormtail raised you happy. I've given this to Dumbledore under strict instructions to make sure you read this before anything changes, and I trust that he will find a reliable, trustworthy source to tell you the story of your existence._

 _I'm sorry you had to hear this under these circumstances, but you need to know the truth. You need to have pride in who you are._

 _Best wishes,_

 _Your father._

I glance up at him. "Who's Orissa?"

The headmaster gives me a small smile. "That would be you, my dear."

I stare at the letter in shock before slowly meeting Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze. "Who am I?"

"Your full legal name, as it appears on your true birth certificate, is Orissa Andromeda...Black."

* * *

 **Dun dun dunnnn...**

 **Review review review!**


	8. Chapter 8

"Black?" I sputter. " _Black?!_ Any relation to the psycho chasing down me and my bro - Harry, I mean?"

Dumbledore nods gravely. "He is your father."

I stare at him for a moment in pure shock. My father wasn't James Potter, and he was an insane escaped convict that was hunting down Harry and me. I wasn't who I thought I was. All I had was a single letter, which explained only a few things, from a father I can't remember meeting.

Dumbledore gives me a patient, sympathetic look. "I'd expect you to have some questions."

"Yeah...um..." I consider this for a moment beforehand deciding to just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "What did he look like? You know, before he...went all..."

The headmaster nods in understanding. "I believe I may have a photograph of Mr. Black at a happier time in his life...ah, yes, here. Graduating year. You can keep it if you like."

He hands me a framed photograph, the bottom of the frame labeled _Sirius Black: Class of '78._

The picture depicts a young man, maybe seventeen, with black hair reaching about to the base of his neck. His hair looks glossy and soft, and extremely well cared for. His eyes are a beautiful dove grey color, sparkling with a mischievous gleam; it looked like he had something planned, you didn't know what it was, and he liked it that way. His huge, slightly smug smile didn't disagree with that conclusion.

His clothing was slightly ruffled, but it looked like it was on purpose. He was not wearing an outer robe, his shirt was untucked, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he was wearing a light grey unbuttoned suit vest and a red and gold tie.

 _That means he was in Gryffindor,_ I muse. _I'm not sure if this makes me feel better or worse._

I give a small sigh as I look back up at the headmaster. "Sir, I look nothing like him."

Dumbledore nods. "There is that. I believe the letter mentioned something about concealment charms?"

I glance down at the paper in my lap and nod. "It did."

"And, if my memory serves correct, Professor Flitwick doesn't cover this until sixth year..." He fixes me with a curious stare. "Have you felt sick at all lately? Dizzy, nauseous, the like?"

I nod slowly. "Four or five times...I've just suddenly felt sick and really uncomfortable...why? Is there something wrong?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all," he assures me, "that is just your body rebelling against its artificial state. The concealment charms placed upon you, although highly advanced, were only meant to last thirteen years. They were set to disappear on the day you became a teenager."

I tilt my head. "But sir, my thirteenth birthday was more than a month ago. Right?"

"No, my dear, it wasn't." He grins at me. "Happy Birthday, Miss Black."

I have to remind myself not to react to the use of my true last name, knowing that I'll have to get used to it eventually. "September 5th?"

He nods. "That was the day you were officially born in 1980." I absorb this new information as he continues. "The charms were meant to wear off just before midnight tonight, but - now that you know the truth - I can release them early, if you'd like."

"And this would mean me looking like...well, _me_?" He nods, and I gives this a moment of thought. "Okay. Do it, please. I need...I need to see what..."

"I understand, my dear." Dumbledore picks up his wand. "You may wanted to stay seated, it may hurt a bit."

I nod and grip the arms of the chair a little tighter. "O-Okay. I'm ready."

I close my eyes, hear Dumbledore chant something in what was probably Latin but unrecognizable to me, and then I wince because it feels like a giant punched me in the chest.

I can't breath for a moment as my lungs adjust, my organs shifting slightly as my body is molded back into what it was so long ago. Then my head is hurting, my scalp burning as my hair morphs.

About five minutes of pain later, I'm left panting and sore, slouched in the chair. A warm chuckle reaches my ears. "You can open your eyes now."

I do so, blinking a few times. "Why is everything blurry?"

Dumbledore chuckles again. "Try removing your glasses, my dear."

I slide the slightly square brown frames off my face and set them on the desk in front of me. I blink again, and everything is sharper. "Wow."

He nods. "That's one of the minor changes. Take a look." He conjures a full length mirror and I stretch as I position myself in front of it.

And I don't look me. Well, not old me, anyways.

My hair, previously a chocolate brown color and almost overwhelmingly so - like someone pressed too hard with a crayon when deciding my hair color - was now a glossy black, falling to about mid neck in back and swept to the side in front. My eyes, previously _too_ green, were now the same soft gray as the portrait's, littered with flecks of blue.

I was about two or three inches taller, and I had filled out slightly - I wasn't fat, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I was no longer scrawny, and I also had slightly more muscle definition.

I don't look like Allison Potter.

I looked like Orissa Black. And, despite the circumstances, I liked it.

I exhale slowly and turn to face the headmaster. "Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Black?"

"I, um, don't think I should go back to class. This might raise some questions."

"That is true," he concedes. "What do you plan to do?"

"Well, given that news travels faster than a Firebolt around here, everyone will most likely know the truth by morning. At the most. And I'll deal with that when it happens. But for now, I kind of need to absorb the fact that my entire life has been a lie and my only living relative is a mass-murderer."

He nods. "That's perfectly acceptable. I will inform the professors and let them excuse you for the rest of the day. Would you like me to tell anyone in advance?"

"Um..." I bite my lip. "Harry. You'll have to tell him t-that I'm not his twin. Or his sister. Merlin, we aren't even related."

"If it's any consolation, Miss Black, James was your godfather."

I shrug. "Mhm, it's better than nothing. Professor?"

He grins at me. "Dismissed, my dear."

I give him a nod before turning on my heel and running out of the room, down the stairs, and to wherever my feet take me.

.

I eventually find a seat on the front steps of the school as I contemplate my new sense of reality.

All is quiet until a soft noise behind me makes me jump. "Ah! I didn't see you there, sir."

"It's quite alright," Professor Lupin reassures me. "Good afternoon, Miss...Black."

"So you know," I sigh. "How long have you known?"

"Well, seeing as I knew your father...about thirteen years."

I raise my eyebrows as he comes to sit next to me. "You knew my father?"

He nods. "Harry's too. Sirius, James, Peter and I were the best of friends in school."

I look at him for a moment. "Really?"

"Really," he nods again.

I fidget and focus my gaze on my shoes. "Can...um...Professor, can you tell me about him? I mean, you don't have to, but-"

"It's alright," he gently cuts off my ramble. "I would love to, Orissa."

I sit back, testing my new name out as he decides what to tell me.

"Sirius Black...let's see...well, to start, he believed he could do anything. There wasn't anything he could do if he actually applied himself to it. Which, mind you, took a little effort from the rest of us. He was so confident, too, and he had charm beyond belief. I couldn't tell if the professors loved him or hated him, though, because he was slightly insufferable."

I nod, a mental image slowly forming in my head. "He doesn't sound like it was easy to make friends with, though."

"But he was. When you were friends with him, he would do _anything_ for you. He, James, and Peter...they risked so much for each other. And me." I think I see his eyes water slightly, but then it's gone. "On the other hand, if you were his enemy, he was relentless. Pranking was his favorite method of attack, but I can remember a few fist fights too. That was another thing, he had an enormous temper. When it exploded, you should either run or stay, and stay only because he needed damage control."

"When you say 'exploded', do you mean literally?"

"Sometimes," he admits. "He was a very powerful wizard. Why?"

I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. "I, ah, don't know if you've heard, sir, but I sort of...blew up my Aunt- er, Petunia's kitchen."

Lupin frowns. "Petunia...Evans?"

"Dursley, she married. My mu - Lily's sister," I explain. "Why, sir?"

His frown deepens. "N-no reason. Anyways, back to your father. Any questions?"

I frown at the abrupt subject change, but I don't question it. "What house was he in?"

"Gryffindor. All four of us were."

"Did he play Quidditch?"

"Yeah, he was a fantastic Beater. James was a star Chaser and reserve Seeker."

"Best subject?"

"It was a toss between Defense and Ancient Runes."

"Really?"

"Really," he nods. "I had the same reaction. We all were the best at a few subjects: James had Transfiguration, Sirius had Ancient Runes and Defense, I loved History of Magic and Arithmancy, and Peter took Divination and Potions. We each got N.E.W.T.s in our respective subjects."

"That's smart," I admit. "I should do that."

"It worked out well."

I nod, trying to match the image I had in my head with the wanted posters. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome, Miss Black," he lifts himself off of the steps. "I trust I'll see you tomorrow for your first lesson in Defense?"

I nod up at him. "I look forward to it, sir."

And I really did. This professor actually seemed competent, and I didn't think he was hiding Voldemort anywhere.

He gives me a small smile before heading back into the castle, and I wait for a few seconds before following him.

I had less than a day to get used to being Orissa Black - to get used to being _me_ \- and I planned to make the most of it.


	9. Chapter 9

I didn't sleep at all that night; I was worried - almost to the point of an anxiety attack - over the reactions of the school when I stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast. Would they hate me? Probably. Would I be accused of helping my father escape? I had no clue. Would I be considered a danger to the school? I hoped not.

After tossing and turning restlessly for a while, I finally decide to give up on going to sleep and grab a pair of slippers as I make my way down the stairs that lead to the Common Room, hoping that the crackling fire would soothe my nerves a bit.

Although I soon realize that I won't be alone. "Hermione?"

She startles slightly, looking up from the thick book that was on her lap. "Al - wait, no, um..."

"Orissa," I supply. "Nice to meet you."

She laughs and pats the couch next to her. "What are you doing up?"

I shrug. "Nerves. I have to appear in front of the entire school today...it's like the freaking Inquisition!" I whine, collapsing dramatically onto the couch.

Hermione snorts as she marks her place in her book, closes it, and looks at me. "It won't be that bad."

"It will too!" I insist. "My father is _Sirius Black,_ mass murderer! What if the entire school shuns me or something?"

"That isn't going to happen," she sighs exasperatedly. "Dumbledore won't let you face any repercussions for something you didn't do. And you still have friends, you know."

"Do I?" I ask her sarcastically. " _Allison Potter_ had friends."

"And Allison was really Orissa the entire time," she reminds me. "Your personality didn't change, just your looks. I like the change, by the way."

"Thanks. But still-"

"Have you ever heard the Muggle saying, 'the people that matter don't mind and the people that mind don't matter'?"

I blink at her. "Yes, once or twice."

She nods. "That's the way it's going to be."

I grin at her. "Thanks. What do you think about the whole situation?"

"Me? Personally?" I nod. "I'm a bit perturbed that you were lied to, but I'm not angry at anyone because it was probably done for a good reason. I think it'll be a good thing that you're really you now."

"And how did Ron and Harry take the news?"

"Harry is, of course, more than a little disturbed by the fact that you aren't, and never truly were, his sister, let alone his twin. But he promised to support you anyways. Ron, on the other hand...let's just say he's how the whole school knows."

"Let me guess," I groan, "he had to tell Percy, Fred, George, Ginny, his mum and dad..."

"And Lavender overheard him. She told Ernie McMillan, Marietta Edgecombe, and Pansy Parkinson. They told Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin respectively. Malfoy has not shut up about it. I swear, one more crack and I'll...I'll..."

"You'll what, 'Mione?" I tease her. "Revenge would mean breaking rules."

"Shut up," she grumbles. "Malfoy's a prat."

I nod my agreement quickly. "Duh. Whatever you're planning, he deserves it."

"I'm not planning anything!"

"Sure you're not, 'Mione."

"Shut up, 'Rissa."

.

"...I heard she knows where Azkaban is..."

I shudder and lift my bag higher onto my shoulder as Harry, Ron, Hermione and I pass the Ravenclaw table en route to our own. We had only stepped foot in the Great Hall not five minutes ago, but the whispers started as soon as they could see my face.

"D'you think she helped him escape?"

"Seriously," Ron grumbles. "It's only been one night! What, did they stay up all night to discuss conspiracy theories?"

I shrug as we find seats at the Gryffindor table and start serving ourselves. "Who knows?"

We eat in silence for about ten minutes before Ginny, Fred, and George plant themselves next to us. "So," Ginny asks loudly, "Orissa, did you hear about the Quidditch game coming up?"

I give her a grateful look. "I did indeed, Ginny. It's a shame that Bell left, we're going to miss her talent."

Once the whispers die down slightly, I continue in a normal tone of voice. "Seriously though, they need three chasers."

"I know," Ginny nods. "I was thinking of trying out, but only if nobody else does. I have too much to do already."

"Don't do it if you don't want to," Harry advises. "I'd rather we not play at all than have a Chaser collapse from exhaustion mid game."

"Yeah, Ginnykins-" Fred adds.

"-can't have Mum send us another Howler," George finishes.

Ginny scowls at them both. "Nice to know you care."

They grin. "You're welcome!"

I roll my eyes at all of them before gaining a thoughtful expression. "Do you think I could do it?"

"You?" Everyone gives me incredulous looks. "Really? You? Miss I-Will-Never-Fly?" Fred asks.

I glare at him. "I told you, I needed adjustment time. I'd say I'm pretty well adjusted. And I need an outlet."

Ron looks like Christmas has come early. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew you would play one day!"

"Anyways," Hermione clears her throat, pointedly ignoring Ron, "do you think you could play Chaser?"

I give a half shrug. "I dunno. I mean, I'm fast, not afraid of physical altercation, and my hand-eye coordination is going to be loads better, now that I don't have to wear glasses."

"True," Harry agrees. "I would go for it. The worst Wood can do is say no."

"I'm not so sure of that, but I'll try. When are tryouts again?"

"Saturday afternoon-"

"-at eleven."

"I'll be there," I promise, leaning over to glance at Hermione's wrist watch. "Come on, it's a quarter till eight. We should probably be going."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron nod and gather their bags as Ginny groans before trudging off to History of Magic while the twins head to Transfiguration, whispering about something under their breath.

The four of us make our way to Charms, which was on the second floor, and I breathe a sigh of relief as we leave the whispers of the Great Hall behind.

We make it to Professor Flitwick's classroom just as the bell tolls and find our seats.

I'm incredibly thankful that he doesn't make a big deal about calling "Black, Orissa,", giving a stern look to a few kids that start talking excitedly before moving on. Once the last name is called, he groups us off, gives us each a rat, and starts us on our Enlargement charms.

I pull out my wand and flick it at my rat. " _Engorgio!_ " It shudders a bit, but doesn't do anything else.

Hermione's rat grows a few centimeters before she starts talking. "Harry, why aren't you more stressed about Black hunting you down?"

Harry shrugs. " _Engorgio!_ I don't know, I'm just not that scared. I've faced Voldemort three times already."

"But Black's insane!" Ron counters. "And evil!"

"Hey!" I glare at him as my rat finally grows by about a quarter of its size. "Watch it. I don't call your dad evil."

"My dad didn't kill twelve Muggles with one spell."

"Yeah, how did that happen? Did he just wake up one day and decide to commit murder?"

Ron glances up at me. "You don't already know?"

I shake my head, and he sighs. "I don't want to tell this one..."

"I will," Hermione offers, and I nod after growing my rat another few centimeters.

" _Engorgio!_ " she flicks her wand again before clearing her throat. "During the first war, the Potters were on the front lines of the war. By their side, as usual, was James' best friend, Sirius Black. The Potters went into hiding just after your first birthday, Harry, and nobody even knew Orissa - Allison, then - existed until after Christmas of 1981. Anyways, your parents went into hiding and named Sirius their Secret Keeper. The only way someone could find them was if Sirius told them the location. That Halloween, You-Know-Who found them and, you know did...that, and afterwards Black hunted down another friend of James, a man named Peter Pettigrew, presumably to finish the job. Pettigrew and Black dueled, and then Pettigrew screamed that Black had killed Lily and James just before an explosion rocked the street and Pettigrew, along with thirteen Muggles, died. All they found was a finger-"

"What?" I tilt my head. "Just _one_ finger?"

"Yeah."

"And that doesn't seem suspicious to anyone else?" I ask quietly, flicking my wand as my rat finally doubles in size. "The guy _blew up_ , and there was no blood or gore, just one finger?"

"...I don't know." Hermione says slowly. "But anyways, Black was just standing there, laughing. They carted him off to Azkaban the next morning."

"What did he say at his trial?"

Hermione looks confused. "What trial?"

"What?" I reel back in shock. "He didn't get a trial? That can't be legal!"

"The Ministry was busy-"

"I don't care!" I whisper-yell. "The Ministry sent my f-father to Azkaban without definite proof _of his guilt!_ " I jab my wand a little too hard, and there's a pop before my rat explodes everywhere. "Oh, ew...sorry, professor."

"That's alright, Miss Black." Flitwick quickly vanishes my mess. "You best get to your next class."

I nod and grab my bag, thoughts swirling in my head.

My dad and Harry's dad were best friends. How did one of them suddenly turn traitor?

Pettigrew exploded and left just one finger.

There was no trial, let alone a sentencing.

What _really_ happened that night?

* * *

 **Reviews are awesome!**


	10. Chapter 10

"Why hasn't anyone invented a shortcut for this yet?" I whine as I trudge up a staircase in the North Tower, which was a section of the castle I hadn't been in yet.

Just behind me, Harry shrugs. "I don't know. Do you think they could?"

"Well, wizards have obviously heard of lifts," Hermione reasons. "I've heard that the Ministry has a few. But I've also heard that Hogwarts disables any Muggle technology, and that includes lifts."

"Any _magical_ shortcut options?" Ron pants as we take another turn and encounter more stairs.

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts," she reminds us.

"It would be bloody useful if we could," I groan. "Is this the right floor?"

Hermione unfolds her schedule from her pocket and gives it a glance. "Yep, it says right here: seventh floor, room 223."

"But there's nothing here!" Ron protests as we look around and the dead end corridor, where a few other students were starting to converge.

I tilt my head upwards slightly, something catching my eye. "Yes, there is." I point directly above my head.

There was a plaque: _Sybill Trelawney: Divination Teacher._

Hermione harrumphs at it. "But how do we-" 

She's cut off as a circular trapdoor opens and a silvery ladder unravels.

Ron turns to grin at the rest of us. "Well, ladies first!"

"Prat," I huff and glare at him as I follow Hermione up the ladder.

The classroom looks like an old lady's living room and an antiques shop had a baby, and then bathed it in incense and perfume. Instead of chairs and desks, there's poufy armchairs surrounding tables, each of which had a crystal ball in the middle.

"It is so nice to see you in the physical world at last."

I nearly scream – and I'm not the only one – as I jump back and round on the owner of the voice.

A lady is sitting in the armchair, a skinny, slightly scrawny build (like I was before the Change, as I've taken to calling it), big, bug-eyed glasses that magnified her eyes at least three times their normal size, and a glittery shawl draped over her shoulders.

"Sit, my children, sit," the woman urges us softly. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I all settle around one table, the rest of the class awkwardly finding seats.

"Welcome to Divination. I am Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye."

Nobody says anything, although I do share a confused glance with Hermione.

"You have chosen to take Divination; the most difficult of the magical arts-"

"Not true," I grumble, "I say Potions is _far_ harder."

"-and I must warn you, it is a very fickle art. If you do not have the Sight, there is not much I can teach you my dears."

"Translation," I whisper to Hermione, "If you aren't insane, you aren't learning anything worth owl dung in here," and she laughs lightly.

Trelawney scans her huge eyes over the class, eventually stopping on Neville. "You, boy – is your grandmother well?"

"I – uh – yeah, I think so?"

"I wouldn't be so sure," she says breezily, and Neville gulps.

She goes on to explain the course progression and goals, almost like a normal class, but then she starts on the day's lesson. "I want to you divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of _Unfogging the Future._ I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear – Neville, was it? - After you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to the pink."

We all go up to collect a teacup, and I sigh as the sound of shattering china and Neville apologizing profusely. The four of us sit quickly, guzzling down the scalding liquid and leaving only a mass of soggy brown material at the bottom. Harry and Ron quickly trade cups while I do the same with Hermione.

Hermione glances at me as I peer into her cup. "Well, what do you see?"

"A lot of soggy brown mush…" I yawn, the heavy and slightly warm air of the classroom making my sleepier by the minute. "Okay…well, there's a blob looking thing…that might be a knot; you're going to be stressed – sorry – and, oh, there's something with horns? A ram, maybe? That means you'll be mad at someone…oh, I wonder what Malfoy does."

Hermione rolls her eyes at me good-naturedly as she looks at my teacup. "My turn. Okay, 'Rissa…there's something that looks like a stick; maybe something in the forest? Then there's a paw print – I don't know what that means – and a mask, that means you'll be lied to; that one's obvious. And then there's this big black bur of some sort, um-"

She stops as Professor Trelawney suddenly whirls around to face our tables. "Give me those."

Hermione and Ron hand over the two cups, the entire class falling into a hush as she looks into Harry's cup first. "The falcon…my boy, you have a deadly enemy…"

"Everyone knows that!" Hermione groans. "What? Everyone knows about Harry and You-Know-Who!"

"It's practically legend," I add in a bored tone, sharing a small grin with Hermione.

"The club…oh no, an attack…this is not a happy cup, no…"

I sigh as Ron mumbles something about a bowlers hat and Trelawney sees a skull, showing danger in Harry's path, before seeing something that makes her gasp, scream, and sink into the nearest armchair. "No, no my dear boy…my poor, poor dear boy…please, do not ask – it is kinder of you to not…"

"Good _god_ ," I give a long-suffering sigh. "What _is it_?"

"You – you have the Grim!" Trelawney gasps.

"The what?"

"Huh?"

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" She looks surprised that we don't know what on Earth she's on about. "The spectral dog that haunts graveyards – it is most well known as a symbol of death!"

I sigh as everyone gasps. "Really, people?"

Hermione moves around to poke her head over the professor's shoulder. "I don't think that looks like the Grim," she reports frankly.

Trelawney eyes her with distaste. "If you will excuse me, my dear, I sense very little aura surrounding you. You seem to be very unreceptive to this this subject."

I roll my eyes as Seamus Finnegan tilts his head from side to side, trying to see other ridiculous animals in the cup.

Finally, after about five minutes, Harry gets fed up. "If you're all done predicting my death!"

"Yeah," I drawl. "Can you read my cup now, please? Do I get to die too?"

Trelawney gives me a long look before picking up my cup. "A linked chain…you will discover someone new, someone very close to you…"

I bite my head as I remember my father.

"A star…you will discover new talent…and a skull…you will be in great danger…"

I groan. "Just a normal year, then. Are we done here?"

She nods quickly. "Oh yes, I think it would be best to end the class here. Until we meet again, my dears, may good fortune befall you."

I grab my bag and hurry out of the room and down the ladder, leaning against the wall as I breathe fresh air.

Harry, Hermione and Ron are silent as they join me in a huddle.

"Well that went well," I joke.

"Honestly," Hermione huffs. "If Divination means predicting the death of my friends in tea leaves, I won't be taking it much longer! I learned loads more in my Arithmitacy class!" She storms off.

"What?" I stare at her retreating back. "She hasn't had Arithmitacy yet, has she?"

They shake their heads as we make our way to Transfiguration.

"I don't want to do this…" I moan quietly. "Everyone is expecting you to drop dead and me to murder someone out of the blue. You think I could skip?"

Ron shrugs. "Why not?"

"Good, thanks. Can you tell McGonagall the incense gave me a headache or something?"

"Not far from the truth, is it?" Harry gives me a small grin. "Alright, Ori, we'll tell her. I can't say she'll believe us, but…" he shrugs. "You'll be okay?"

I nod giving him a quick hug before shouldering my bag. "Thanks, I owe you one!"


	11. Chapter 11

I jog back to the Common Room, giving the Fat Lady the password before hopping through the portrait hole and settling onto one of the couches.

I drag out my Defense book – I had the class earlier that morning – and a roll of parchment and a quill, starting on my 18 inch essay on Pixies. I give a small laugh as I remember the events of the previous year, when Lockhart brought a cage-full into class and accidentally set them loose.

Professor Lupin was by far my favorite teacher – in Hogwarts, let alone Defense. He was fair, had a reasonable sense of humor (the quiet, sarcastic kind), treated everyone equally, and didn't make a big commotion when someone messed up.

He did assign essays, though, and I hated writing; but you couldn't have everything.

I only get about four inches done before some calls my name. "Black?"

I look up, already getting used to my real name, to discover Oliver Wood standing in front of me. "Yes?"

"Oliver Wood," he offers a hand, which I shake. "I'm the captain-"

"For the Quidditch team," I finish with a small eye roll. "I don't like under a rock, you know. I've been to every one of Harry's games. You're practically legend."

His cheeks take a faint pink tone. "Yes, well…I heard you were applying."

I nod. "For Bell's position. It's really the only position I want to play, but I'm not fussy if you want me on reserve."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," he assures me. "We need a Chaser on the team, and we don't need reserves at the moment. Plus, I've heard your father – before…he…went all…y'know…" he waves a hand, and I nod absently for him to continue. "Anyways, while he was at school, he was a Beater. Seeing as I don't peg you for a Beater-"

"Er, no," I wrinkle my nose. "Racing around waving clubs? It's a little too…"

"Barbaric?" he suggests, and I nod. "Yeah, it's been described as so. Fred and George don't care. Anyways, I just wanted to introduce myself formally. I'll see you Saturday?"

I nod eagerly. "I'll be there."

He gives a small wave as he wanders off, and I grin with excitement for a few more minutes before returning to my essay, sporadically glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner.

I get about five more inches of essay done before one more glance tells me I've got about fifteen minutes before I need to be out on the grounds for Hagrid's first class.

One quick trip up to the dorms later I've shed my outer robe and vest, leaving just the dress shirt and tie to show house affiliation. I haul my Monster Book of Monsters, still bound by a belt, into my bag and make my way outwards.

I make it to the designated area with about five minutes to spare, and I lean against a tree to wait and wonder whether or not I should have pulled out a life insurance policy before I came, based on Hagrid's definition of 'dangerous'.

The peace doesn't last long though.

"Hey Black!"

I sigh and let my head fall back against the tree trunk. "Dang it…"

"Black! Murder anyone lately?"

I turn around to face a head of white-blonde hair and a sneer. "Bug off, Malfoy."

"Why should I? You gonna blow me up, just like daddy did? Are you going to laugh, too, like he did? I bet a Galleon you will. It would seem insanity is a family trait."

"And, oh look, your family cares more about hair products that character," I give him a sweet smile. "I wonder what that implies."

"You better watch your mouth Black," he threatens. "My father will hear about this."

"Oh, yeah," I snort. "Go on, run to daddy, why don't you?"

He sneers, but any response is interrupted by Harry, Ron, and Hermione arriving. I jog over to them, pointedly ignoring Malfoy. "How was it?"

"Oh, it was brilliant!" Hermione squeals. "She taught us about Animagi, or wizards and witches that can turn into animals at will. She turns into a grey tabby. Here, I duplicated my notes for you." She holds out a sheaf of papers.

I quickly browse the page. "That sounds amazing. So did she take the excuse?"

Ron makes a so-so gesture. "Not really, but once we explained where we had been she understood. She does want you to read pages 256 to 290, though, that's the chapter on Animagi."

I nod. "Okay, that's only fair. Come on, this class starts in a few minutes."

They nod and set their bags down next to mine, all of us pulling out our copies of _Monster Book of Monsters._ Hermione's was wrapped in Spellotape while Ron has his bundled in a burlap sack. "Has anyone been able to open these yet?"

They shake their heads.

"Mine seemed a little less violent yesterday," Ron offers, "but that was probably temporary."

I sigh and give my book a calculating look as Hagrid shows up. "C'mon, now, get a move on!" he calls after making sure everyone was here. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Follow me!"

"Oh, please don't let him be leading us into the forest," I whimper, and Hermione grabs my hand for support. "I don't particularly like the forest."

But he doesn't lead us to the forest; instead just walking along the edge for a bit before rounding one more corner and brings us to a paddock.

"Okay, everyone, settle down! Firs' thing, yeh need ter open yer books to-"

I raise my hand, and he looks at me. "What is it, Orissa?"

"Um, how do we open our books? I haven't been able to yet, and neither has Harry, Ron, or Hermione."

"Er…" he looks around at the class, who were staring at him with uncertain expressions. "Has anyone bin able ter open their books?"

We all glance at each other, shaking our heads.

"Yeh have to stroke 'em," Hagrid explains as if it were obvious. He grabs the copy which was nearest, mine, and pulls of the belt. The book struggles for a moment before Hagrid strokes a finger down the spine of the book, causing it to shiver before falling open and laying quietly in his hand. "See?"

"Oh, how silly we were all being!" Malfoy drawls. "Stroke our books, why wasn't that obvious?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," I hiss. "Hagrid, would it be more helpful if the books came with warnings? Or maybe instructions?"

He instantly brightens up. "That's a great idea, Orissa. Thank yeh."

I nod as he continues speaking.

"Well then, let's get goin'. Hang on, le' me go get one…"

"One _what_?" I ask Hermione quietly, and she shrugs.

The stampeding of hooves eventually alerts us to Hagrid's return, and most of us - minus Malfoy and his goons - gasp.

Behind Hagrid is what looks to be a cross between a horse and an eagle, with dove gray hair and feathers (matching my eyes), dangerous looking copper beak, and eyes like molten bronze. Behind it was eleven others, following it slowly and cautiously.

"Whoa," I breathe. "What _are_ they?"

Hagrid apparently hears me, because he grins. "These're Hippogriffs! Beautiful creatures, they are. Who wants teh pet one?"

Everyone stays silent, Ron eventually shoving Harry forward.

Lavender squeals as he walks forward. "Oh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!"

I roll my eyes. "Ignore her, you'll do fine. Don't get mauled."

He glares back at me before turning back to Hagrid and the Hippogriff.

"Hippogriffs, they're proud creatures," Hagrid explains. "Insultin' 'em migh' just be the last thing yeh do. Stop blinking, Harry, they don' like it when yeh blink too much. That's it…that's it…now, bow."

I watch with frozen breath as Harry bows to a gray Hippogriff, as does the rest of the class. I think I see Hermione grab Ron's hand, but it doesn't register humorously as it should.

Harry slowly straightens up, his eyes never leaving the Hippogriff. The Hippogriff does nothing at first, and I freeze on the spot, standing stock-still with my eyes wide as Hagrid grows increasingly nervous.

"Ah...okay, Harry, back away slowly now...slowly…"

The Hippogriff moves first, though, and I give a soft yelp as I prepare for bloodshed.

But the Hippogriff doesn't lunge, or even snap - it sinks down onto its knees in what is quite obviously a bow.

Ron, Hermione and I give a collective sigh of relief as Hagrid claps Harry on the back. "Way teh go, Harry! Buckbeak likes yeh! I reckon he migh' let yeh ride 'im, now!"

I giggle slightly as a flash of panic and 'this-is-not-what-I-signed-up-for' flashes across Harry's face before he's seated on Buckbeak, who has his twelve foot wings fully expanded.

Then Buckbeak's in the air, his wings flapping majestically as he slowly flies in a circle, dipping and bobbing above the lake before circling back and landing semi-roughly.

The rest of us, encouraged by his success, spread out and get assigned different Hippogriffs.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I get assigned a light brown female that Hagrid tells us is named Dapple. We all bow in turn, each getting a bow in return even though she looks slightly wary of Ron.

The lesson, in my opinion, couldn't have been going better.

And then I heard Malfoy.

He, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak, and he was currently stroking the Hippogriff's beak, looking extremely bored. "Oh, this is easy. I knew it must be, if Gryffindor's Golden Boy could do it. You're not even all that threatening, are you, you bloody chicken…"

Faster than I can blink, there's a slicing sound and a high pitched scream as red paints the grass. Buckbeak draws back, leaving Malfoy writhing on the ground and clutching his arm. "Ah! I'm dying! It's killed me!"

"Obviously not," I call back, turning back to Dapple, "given that your mouth still works."

"Oh, the agony!"

I just roll my eyes as Hagrid rushes over, nearly dragging Malfoy after him and calling over his shoulder, "Class dismissed?"

"What?" Hermione asks, shocked. "No assignments? No homework? Nothing?!"

"Don't sound so let down," I grumble. "There is no homework. That is a good thing. We have discussed this, 'Mione."

She rolls her eyes at me and harrumphs. "Whatever. Come on, I need to get to Muggle Studies!"

I jog to catch up with her, eventually falling in stride. "I thought that was earlier, before lunch?"

"It's…um…extra help."

" _What_?" I gasp. "Hermione Granger needing extra help in a subject? _Muggle Studies_ , no less? I never thought I'd like to see the day!"

She doesn't respond, just keeps walking.

"Hey, Hermione, I was wanting to talk to you about – Hermione?"

I slowly turn around, only to be greeted by and empty, cold hallway. "Okay…that was weird."

"What was weird?" I look to see Harry and Ron strolling towards me. "Ori?"

I glance at the boys, back at the hallway, and the boys again, eventually just shaking my head. "Nothing, it was nothing."

It was definitely _something_. I just didn't know what.

* * *

 **Reviews really do make my day!**


	12. Chapter 12

Saturday was an overcast, gray day, but I was too excited to care. It was finally time for Quidditch tryouts, and hopefully by the end of the day I would be a Chaser.

Despite it being a weekend day – therefore meaning no classes – I was out of bed by seven. Hermione had to practically force feed me breakfast while Harry soothed my nerves with encouraging words and Seamus ever so _helpfully_ pointed out that the worst that could happen was me getting nailed in the head with the Quaffle and dying from blunt force trauma.

After I calmed down from the hysteric fit _that_ caused, I curled up on an armchair in the Common Room with _Quidditch Through The Ages_ to study some of what was to be expected of me. I liked the maneuvers the best, personally, but Fred, George, and Harry all advised me to _not_ try and break my neck with an extravagant move before I even qualified.

Lunch was even more of a struggle than breakfast, but then the main event was upon us.

We all make our way down to the pitch, Hermione and Ron splitting off to go find seats while Harry dragged me over to the other applicants and wished me luck before joining the team.

I shift my weight from foot to foot nervously as the others all chatter amongst themselves. A quick head count reveals about twenty applicants.

Twenty applicants and only one position on the team, and – if Wood was correct – no need for reserves. Which means _they were all here to try out for Chaser_.

One spot.

Twenty people.

Oh, _Merlin._

I breathe out and close my eyes to keep from hyperventilating, and before I know it Wood's standing in front of us and talking.

"Welcome, fellow Gryffindors and hopefully future teammates! Today's tryout will be for the only spot left open as of right now – third Chaser, recently vacated by Katie Bell. We are not building reserves at this time, so if you're here for that, sorry, but you can leave or head to the stands."

Only one person moves – a boy, looking to be a first year and about eleven.

Nine people left, still just one spot.

"So," Wood continues, "you will each be given a set of Quidditch robes to fly in for tryouts only – unless you make the team, in which case you'll get your own robes. Now, once you're all dressed we'll get you on brooms. We'll be calling by last name alphabetical order."

I groan slightly – this means I'll be one of the first to go up.

 _Well_ , my conscience reminds me, _at least you'll get it over with._

After we've all dressed in the right robes (mine are a little too big), we make our way back to the pitch, where Wood was standing with a stopwatch, Quaffle, and clipboard. "Alright, good. Now then…Aston, Michael…"

Sometime later (my concept of time was as frayed as my nerves) "Bibbs, William," touches down after making six successful shots out of ten and almost crashing into Angelina Johnson.

"Black, Orissa."

I take a deep breath and force myself to walk forward, ignoring the whispers that break out at the sound of my name as I accept a school broom – a Cleansweep Five – from Angelina and mount it.

"Okay, Black," Wood nods at me. "Here's what's going to happen. Angelina and Alicia Spinnet over there will take to the skies with you in order to both test your ability to work with them and your skill in evasion. I will be acting as Keeper, to test how well you can get the ball past me. There is no opposing team, unfortunately, but act like there is, okay?"

I nod mutely as he finishes repeat what he's said to every applicant that's gone so far.

"Whenever you're ready."

I nod again, glancing over towards the team just in time to see Harry give me a thumbs up, making a small smile climb onto my face as I urge the broom a little higher.

Once the three of us are high enough in the air, Oliver mounts his own broom and hovers in front of the hoops, handing Fred the Quaffle. "3…2…1…start!"

The Quaffle gets launched into the air, and I instantly move forward to catch it, tucking it under one arm as I take off across the field.

About halfway across the field, a red blur streaks past me in the opposite direction, and I just barely register that it's Angelina, and now she was the Quaffle. I catch Alicia's eye, however, and she nods; coming into positon above me.

We both rush at Angelina at the same time – Alicia going higher to steal the Quaffle and make Angelina follow her, which she does, and once she's lead Angelina a safe distance away she lets the Quaffle escape her grasp, letting it fall about five feet to where I hover, waiting to catch.

While Alicia deals with Angelina, I take off across the field at full speed; headed straight for Wood and the goalposts. I quickly asses the Keeper's position and find out he's lacking on the left ring, and I alter my course to adjust.

I dart the final few feet, turning my broom to the side slightly as I skid to an almost-stop, tossing the Quaffle immediately and giving a whoop as it passes neatly through the hoop.

"Nice job, Black!" Angelina calls. "Let's try that again…"

Nine tries and eight goals later, my boots touch back down onto the ground, and I – along with Alicia and Angelina – was only painting slightly.

I get off my broom and pass it off to Wood, shaking hands with the other two girls before heading off to stand with the other completed applicants.

"Orissa!" Hermione squeals, running up to me. "You were amazing!"

"Yeah, mate," Ron nods. "That roll you did to avoid Alicia when she came down to you on your seventh throw was brilliant!"

I can't help the slight heat that rises to my cheeks as I shrug. "Yeah, well, let's just hope it's enough."

"Oh, it will be!"

A while later, after the last person ("Yerman, Jessica!") came down, Oliver announced that the team would deliberate and probably get back to us within the hour.

I amble my way over to the stands, Hermione, Ron, and I, finding spots on the first row.

"So," I strike up a conversation, "has Malfoy let up yet?"

Hermione shakes her head. "No, not yet. He's fine, and he probably doesn't even need the bandages now, but you know him."

"Milking it for all it's worth," Ron sneers.

"And what does he have to gain?" I sigh. "Just getting Hagrid fired. Hagrid has nothing against Malfoy; the grudge is completely one-sided."

"And it's only a grudge, per say, because you and Harry adore Hagrid," Hermione muses. "And Malfoy, of course, hates the both of you."

"Yeah," I nod sullenly as I watch the huddle of red that was the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "His new hobby seems to be taunting me about Si – my father."

Hermione frowns and puts a hand on my shoulder. "That's not fair. We don't berate and belittle him for things _his_ father has done. Don't let him get to you, 'Rissa."

Ron stays silent but nods empathetically.

I sigh. "I'll try not to."

A sudden shrill whistling sound makes us all jump, and we look down to see Wood calling down all applicants. A decision must have been made.

I tentatively make my way onto the pitch, Ron and Hermione's last 'good luck's following me.

"Everyone here?" Oliver starts as soon as we're all gathered. "Good. Now, before we tell you who we chose, I want you to all know that you are good fliers, but there's only one spot open right now and nine of you."

I resist the urge to scream out and demand he get to the point.

"So, without further ado, your newest Gryffindor Chaser is…Ms. Orissa Black!"

I stand there in shock for a moment before Harry laughs, walks over to me, and gives me a nudge in the right direction. "Go on."

I give my head a shake as I reach out to shake hands with Wood. "Thank you."

He just grins and hands me a set of robes – scarlet, my size, and displaying BLACK and a 5 on the back.

Harry runs up and gives me a hug, fully decked out in his number 7 robes. "You did it! You actually did it!"

"I _actually_ did it?" I mock teasingly. "Wow, ye of little faith!"

He rolls his eyes as Ron and Hermione run up to us and I barely brace myself before I'm tackled in a hug. "Oh my god, oh my god, you did it, you really, really did it-"

"Hermione?" I ask calmly as soon as I can get a word in. "Can you get off me?"

"Oh…right," she scrambles to get up. "Sorry."

I chuckle as I accept the hand up. "No problem."

We slowly make our way back to the castle, with Ron bragging about how he _knew_ I had talent, I just had to show it, and the rest of us chatting aimlessly about brooms.

"I mean, the Shooting Star was probably nice, way back when," I tell Ron as we walk back into the Common Room, "but honestly the Nimbus is far greater when it comes to _this_ century."

"The Shooting Star was in the 1950s!" he argues. "That's barely forty years ago!"

I open my mouth to counter that, but I'm cut off by a tapping sound at the window. I get up to look, finding a big, brown owl I don't recognize. I let it in instantly, untying a small, wrapped up piece of paper from it's leg.

Harry peeks over my shoulder. "What is it?"

"And who is it from?" Hermione adds.

"It's a note…" I unroll it and read the first line. "From Hagrid."

"Read it!"

 _Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Orissa-_ I read,

 _The Ministry is investigating Buckbeak. Don't try and help. Maybe I deserve it._

 _-Hagrid._

I give a slight gasp. "Buckbeak."

Ron huffs behind me. "That's a low blow Malfoy."

"It's not the first time he's pulled something like this," I remind them. "Trophy room, first year."

"We need to help him," Harry decides, and Ron and I nod eagerly.

"But he said no to!" Hermione protests weakly, and we all turn to stare at her.

I give her a _really_ look. "'Mione, tell me you're not thinking of standing by and letting a Hippogriff be punished for something he was not responsible for!"

She glances at the three of us and then the note. "But…"

"Hermione."

"Fine," she huffs, but I can see the excitement growing in her eyes. "What do we have to do?"

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	13. Chapter 13

I groan as I dump another armful of books onto the table in the library, leaning against the table for a moment to catch my breath and make sure I don't have a hernia.

Across the table, Hermione looks up at me over a volume labeled _Dictates for the Decent Disposal of Dangerous Domestication_ by Chelsea Chania, who apparently had a huge thing for alliteration. "You know you could have levitated those, right?"

I glare at her, still fighting to regain my breath. "Shut…up…"

She just rolls her eyes good naturedly and dives back into the book as I return to the shelves for even more books on laws regarding creatures like Hippogriffs.

I find a book by some Bulgarian wizard that debates the ethics of wizarding creature laws, and I grab the spine and pull it out about halfway when a smaller book suddenly tumbles to the ground, hitting my foot on the way down.

I swear softly, both out of surprise and pain, as I shove the bigger book back into place and grab the smaller one, dusting off the layers of dust that had gathered on it to find it titled _From Man to Beast and Back Again: The Complete Animagus Transformation._ I blink at the title for a moment, recalling the subject to McGonagall's class a few days earlier.

From what I'd read of Hermione's notes and the chapter in the textbook, being an Animagi took a lot of work, dedication, and perseverance; not to mention a fair amount of risk – if the transformation goes wrong at any point you could be stuck as a half-human, half-creature forever.

It did sound like a pretty cool skill, though; being able to see, feel, hear, smell, and taste the world through a completely different species and therefore another perspective sounded amazing. _Not to mention,_ a sneaky part of my brain pipes up, _an awesome weapon against Moldy-shorts. One minute you're dueling and the next: BAM! I will eat your face!_

I barely choke back a laugh at the mental image of a chipmunk flying through the air, teeth bared. I slip the book into the stack anyways, intent to do some more reading on the subject.

Five minutes later, Ron, Hermione, Harry and I are all converged back at the table, piles of books on the table and even the floor around us. "So!" I declare (quietly, because we were still in the library), "Operation: Saving Buckbeak Because Malfoy's being a Git – otherwise known as Operation SBBMBAG-"

"Ori," Hermione sighs exasperatedly, "please sit down and be quiet."

"Fine," I pout, "party pooper."

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and clears her throat. "Okay. I talked to Hagrid, and the Ministry's hearing for Buckbeak is just before Halloween, which means we have about a month or so to prove that the 'attack' was provoked."

"One month?" I question.

"Yes."

"To go against Malfoy? And all his money?" I squint at her.

She nods slowly. "Yes...but when you put it like _that…_ "

"We can do it," Harry assures us confidently. "We _have_ to."

His determination is shared around the table, even if Ron doesn't stop moaning about having to spend his free time in the _library_ of all places – ("Shut it, Ron, what did this place do to you?") – and Hermione's study drive is almost obsessive – ("What do you mean, I have to read it a fourth time?!").

We spend the next two hours in the library, combing over laws as far back as 222 B.C., with my mind occasionally drifting back to the Animagus book. I had to keep reminding myself that _it's dangerous, and risky, and a challenge, and a really cool trick…focus!_

"'Rissa?" Hermione calls.

"Hm?" I jump slightly as I look up at her. "What?"

"Do you think a law applied in 1596 to a Chimera, which sort of looks like a lion, could be applied to a Hippogriff?"

"Depends. Let me see." She turns the book towards me and points at an article. I scan it quickly, going over the most important details and relevant information.

"No," I decide with a shake of my head. "See that little snakey head right there?" She nods as I point at a picture. "That's what caused the injury - it bit the guy. So unless you want to go search Buckbeak for any new scaly appendages…"

She shakes her head. "You're right. This is harder than I thought."

"You're just realizing this now?!" Ron moans incredulously. "My feet went numb an hour and a half ago!"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "You could've gotten up and walked around, you know."

"You mean you wouldn't have yelled at me for doing so?" he asks with fake sincerity.

Hermione sniffs. "I was _not_ that bad, Ronald-"

"Guys," I warn, "please."

"Can we go back to the Common Room now?" Harry asks.

"Or," I grin, "better yet: the Quidditch pitch. Who wants to-?"

I'm cut off by a redheaded whirlwind as Ron runs past me and out the door.

"-play...um, him apparently." I blink. "Anyone else?"

"I'll play," Harry offers.

"And _I_ will be on the sidelines," Hermione agrees.

"Cheering us, your friends and fellow Gryffindors, on?" I ask hopefully.

"Reading," she corrects, shoving a thick book into her bag and hobbling up to see Madam Pince.

"Oh, _well_ ," I sigh dramatically. "I can deal with no support, just like always…"

"Shut it." Harry bumps my shoulder good-naturedly. "Drama queen."

I gasp and stagger, placing a hand over my heart. "You wound me!"

He just rolls his eyes and jogs down the hallway, and I follow him after a moment.

We're both dressed in our scarlet robes in about ten minutes, and I scowl as Harry practically waves his nice, new, fancy Nimbus 2000 in my face.

"You could buy your own," he points out. "Quit scowling at mine."

"When would I have time?" I whine. "I mean, I suppose I could go over the summer, but I highly doubt the Dursleys would just let me go flouncing off into this world of 'freaks'."

"You might not even be living with the Dursleys next summer," he reminds me.

"But the blood wards-"

"They are not _your_ relatives," Harry points out, rather bluntly. " _You_ have a father."

I make a soft noise of discomfort as I wince. "Wow, thanks for the reminder. I was _trying_ not to think about that."

"Why?" he stares at me. "You're a Black, might as well face it."

"Harry, my only living relative is a psychotic escaped convict that might have murdered, like, thirteen people! Please stop mentioning him!" I practically beg. "And why are you so upset about this? I was your sister-"

"No!" he shouts suddenly, and I take a step back. "No, _Orissa_ , you weren't you were never my sister! I thought so too, but no! You were never my _twin_ , never my _sister_ , because one person was too scared to tell the truth!"

"Hey!" I snap, taking one step forward. "Watch it!"

"I thought you didn't want to think about him! Why are you suddenly so defensive?"

"I don't know!" I snap. "He's currently all I have, if you haven't noticed."

"What, so I'm not even allowed to be your friend anymore? Do I not matter to the all-mighty Miss Orissa Andromeda Black anymore?"

"Well according to you I'm allowed to care about you anymore, so-"

"Uh, Harry? Orissa?"

We both jump as a meek voice calls our names, spinning around to face Hermione and Ron, who were standing nervously in the doorway.

Only then do I notice that we were practically nose to nose, both of our cheeks flushed and our eyes hard, flashing emerald and steel. Even our magic was starting respond; you could feel a prickly feeling in the room.

"Guys?"

I take a few calming breaths as Harry glances around the room a few times before storming out of the Common Room.

Hermione sighs and shoulders her bag. "I'll go after him. It's not like I was going to play anyways."

Ron looks hesitant, like maybe he should go instead, but I nod and make shooing motions in the direction Harry disappeared before turning back to Ron and grabbing my bag. "Come on."

We go in the opposite direction that Harry and Hermione took, mainly because I was actively trying to avoid Harry.

"Er - Ori? Rissa? Orissa?"

"I'm not going to bite your head off, Ron," I sigh. "Calm down."

"Oh." I hear him let out a relieved sigh before he picks up his pace to fall into step with me. "What just happened?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "Harry and I happened."

"But _how_?" he asks, his stubborn streak setting in. "You two never fight! You act like – like –"

"Like siblings?" I give him a sad smile as we leave the castle. "Yeah, I thought so too. Except apparently he's deeply betrayed by a lie that _I_ didn't even tell and he called my d…fath… _Sirius_ ," I bite out, "a coward."

"He's already ranted to me about this," he informs me as I head to the equipment shed and grab a broom and a spare Quaffle. "The night it happened – your birthday?" I nod. "Well, anyways, he spent about an hour up in the dorms throwing a hissy fit and cursing Black's – er, technically _your_ – name."

"He'll get over it eventually," I tell him as I mount my broom and hand him the Quaffle to throw. (I'm not sure who I'm reassuring, though, him or me?)

And if I throw and catch the ball will a _little_ (lot) more force that necessary, Ron doesn't say anything.

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	14. Chapter 14

The beginning of October came quietly; with Harry and I still not speaking, Hermione spending every second of her free time absorbed in law books, and Ron idly helping her and playing referee between Harry and I. Oliver was being a maniac captain, completely driven on us winning the first game of the season, even if we didn't know who we were playing yet.

The Dementors weren't being any more peaceful, and I still got chills every single time I stepped out onto the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures – which, by the way, had simply become Care of Flobberworms since the Malfoy Incident. And then there were still the whispers that flew simply because of my name.

I was curled up in an armchair on the first Saturday of the month with the Animagus book, trying to convince myself that I was _not_ going to try and attempt it; that I was borrowing the book for _purely academic purpose_ s-

Oh, who was I kidding?! I knew I was going to try it, no matter the risk. Blame it on my Gryffindor courage.

From what I'd read, the transformation was a four part process: first, there was a potion that, no matter when or where you took it, would send you into hallucinogenic dream-like state for an indeterminable amount of time. The longer you were under, the harder the transformation was going to be. The potion itself took about two months, total, to brew and needed some really unusual ingredients like half an Adder's tongue, two Crocodile hearts, Octopus powder, and wolf's fourth left molar, among other things.

The book had said that after the potion was done and the form determined, the witch or wizard had to create an incantation in Latin that would unlock the animal's genes inside of them.

The third step was slowly doing partial transformations – a tail here, an ear there, and a paw occasionally. This is where the book warned that being an Animagus was not for the impatient and that such people should not even go so far as to obtain the first potion ingredient.

The fourth and final step is the final transformation, which is said to hurt a bit because your bones, muscles, and skin have to be forced a completely different shape. After the first transformation, however, it doesn't hurt anymore; with practice, they say, it becomes as easy as breathing.

The book says that the average time needed to complete all four steps is two years, and most of that is usually the incantation and transformation work. It is reported to go faster, however, if you have an Animagus in your direct bloodline.

 _Well,_ I muse bitterly, _I don't think James or Lily Potter were Animagi, but it's not like that would matter anyways. But if Sirius Black was one…that'd be the icing on the cake, wouldn't it? He'd probably be a cockroach or something._

I shiver at the thought of being related to a literal cockroach, quickly turning a page in the book on my lap and trying to re-immerse myself in the text.

'Trying' being the operative word there.

"Hey Ori!"

I lookup, snapping the book shut as Ron clambers through the portrait hole and rushes up to me excitedly. "Ron?"

"Did you see the news?"

"News?" I raise an eyebrow and tilt my head. "No. What news?"

"It's the first Hogsmeade weekend!"

"Um…huh?"

Ron gives me an odd look. "Uh, Hogsmeade? You know, the village that all third years get to go to? Wait did you forget?"

I shake my head. "I don't think I ever knew, Ron. I was kind of busy blowing up my – _Harry's_ aunt at the time."

"So you didn't get permission to go?"

"Nope," I confirm sadly. "And I imagine Harry didn't either."

"Are you _still_ not talking to him?"

I nod silently.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaims, throwing his arms up exaggeratedly. "Say what you will about Blacks, the only thing I know for sure is that they can hold some impressive grudges."

I give a small shrug and set my book onto the small table next to me, face down of course. "So, besides that…"

"We need to get your form signed!" Ron suddenly grabs my wrist and tugs me out of my chair. "Come on!"

"I didn't even _get_ a form!" I protest as he half-drags me out of the Common Room.

"Doesn't matter, hurry up!"

We end up in the Entrance Hall, where Professor McGonagall had the Gryffindor third years lined up as was checking to make sure each one has a signed form.

"Ron, can you let _go_?"

He glances back at me then down at my wrist. "Oh. Right, sorry."

I retract my slightly sore wrist and rub it while Ron approaches McGonagall. I can't hear what they're saying over the noise of the hall, but I watch them talk for about five minutes before making my way over.

"But, Professor, the Muggles aren't even-"

"I said _no_ , Mr. Weasley. I'm sorry, but nobody can go to Hogsmeade without a permission slip signed by a parent or guardian."

"Come on, Ron," I coax. "Give it up. I don't want to go anyways, I have some homework to catch up on anyways."

McGonagall gives me a proud look. "That's the spirit, Miss Black. Maybe the Dursleys will change their minds."

"I highly doubt that, Professor," I deadpan, quickly turning and leaving the conversation.

I really did have homework that I could be working on; besides, I wasn't going to get my hopes up about going to Hogsmeade when I knew it was an extremely remote possibility. My guardians - the Dursleys - hated my guts and nobody was even sure my parent was sane.

At least Harry got a shot at redemption with Petunia and Vernon; I didn't even know if I had a guardian to go to when summer comes.

I was halfway through a Divination essay - so far I had been struck by lightning, drowned, burned at stake, and been poisoned at least twice - when someone calls my name.

"Orissa?"

I look up to find Harry looking at me from a few feet away. "Harry."

"Can...can I talk to you?"

"Sure," I shrug, rolling up my essay and putting down my quill. "What's up?"

He waves me over to a dark corner, where nobody would find you unless they were deliberately looking for you. "I need to show you something."

"Harry," I ask apprehensively, "did you do something illegal again?"

" _Again_?!" He stares at me. "When have I ever done anything illegal?"

"Just..." I flap a hand dismissively. "What is it?"

He lets out a breath. "Okay, first of all...I'm sorry. I had no right to call Black a coward. Or say you didn't care."

I shake my head. "You didn't mean it. I'm smarter then to believe you did. And _I'm_ sorry too, for getting all up in your face and defensive." I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "I don't know why. I didn't even know the person I was defending."

"But...he's your father," Harry admits softly. "As much as I despise that fact because he's insane-"

I bite back any comments I could've made, because that might actually be the _truth_.

"-that doesn't take away from the truth. You had every right to snap at me."

I nod. "Alright, now that we're talking to each other again, what _else_ is going on?"

"I have something for you." He slips a folded up piece of paper out of a pocket in his robes and hands it to me.

I take it gingerly, turning it over in my hands. "Where did you get this?"

"Fred and George."

I immediately drop the parchment like it's hot, snapping my gaze up to look at Harry. "What?!"

"It's not going to explode, 'Rissa," he sighs exasperatedly with an eye roll. "Really."

"If you say so…" I gently pick the parchment back up and unfold it. "Um…it's blank, Harry. Are you sure-"

He nods. "You have to say the password. Watch." He takes out his wand and taps it on the parchment, whispering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

I can't help but gasp at lines web out over the parchment, first forming words – _"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prong, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers are proud to present: The Marauder's Map!"_ – before spreading out all over.

I'm in awe as Harry hands me the parchment and I unfold it fully, revealing what look to be blueprints; except for the dots moving everywhere on the parchment – a name catches my eye and I squint as I watch the dot labeled _Remus Lupin_ stroll down a corridor.

I blink and watch another dot, Dumbledore, move back and forth in his office; the headmaster was most likely pacing. "What is this?"

"Hogwarts," Harry replies. "And everyone inside. See, here we are." He points to two dots, sure enough labeled _Harry Potter_ and _Orissa Black_ , standing just where we were.

I glance at it one more time and decide to test the map by simply taking it and walking across the room. Sure enough, my dot moves with me. "Wow."

"Yeah," Harry grins as I rejoin him on the other side of the room. "And then to wipe it, you just tap it with your wand and say _mischief managed_."

I pull my wand from my back pocket and tap the map, muttering the words and gasping as the lines quickly fade, soon leaving the map blank parchment again. "Oh, that's so cool!"

"I thought you'd like it."

"Me?" I look up at Harry, who nods.

"I figured since I already had the Cloak, you deserved a mysterious magical item too."

"Aw, thanks." I fold up the map.

"Also, I found us a way to go to Hogsmeade."

I look at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"You know that statue of the one-eyed witch in the third floor corridor?"

"Is that the one near the Runes classroom?" He nods. "Yeah, sort of. Why?"

"Did you happen to know that it has a secret passage out of the castle?" he asks with a drop of hope.

"No," I shake my head. "I'm guessing this is how…"

"We get out?" Harry finishes with a nod. "Are you sure you want to? Ron said you had homework."

I glance at him, down at the map in my hands, and over at my Divination book.

"Nah," I decide, "it can wait. I'm in."


	15. Chapter 15

**I re-wrote the second half of this, I didn't like how it ended up. Please review, I have like five reviews for this** _ **entire**_ **story, and that's sad. Do you guys not like it? Do I need to change something? Or are you just forgetting to review? Please give feedback!**

It takes about five minutes for me to change out of my school robes and into a dark red sweater, black jeans, and a pair of sneakers, with the map and my wand each going into a back pocket, and then another fifteen minutes for us to find our way to the one-eyed witch statue.

Harry turns to me. "So…what now?"

"The map didn't tell you?"

He shakes his head.

"Wonderful," I grumble as I reach for the map and begin unfolding it. "It'll tell us how to get there, but not how to get out." I unfold the map fully and watch as a speech bubble appears above my dot. I watch it for a second before looking back up. "Hold this."

Harry takes the map while I draw my wand and approach the statue, tapping it on the nose. " _Dissendium!_ "

I give Harry a triumphant look as the witch's hump swings open, and he just rolls his eyes at me and hands the map back, tapping it and whispering "Mischief managed," before it goes blank.

"So this leads…where, again?" I ask quietly as I stare at the hole in the statue.

"Honeydukes cellar," Harry clarifies. "I think. Ladies first!"

I glare at his as I grab the statue and prepare to hoist myself in. "Excuses, excuses." I swing my feet in, landing slightly clumsily on a stone floor that felt about four and a half feet down. I couldn't see much, but nothing was growling, hissing, or otherwise making any noise, so I deemed it safe. "You can come down."

I shuffle out of the way as there's a thud – Harry landing not so gracefully – and the hatch above us closes, blocking out all light.

"'Rissa?"

"Right here," I whisper, standing stock still over on the side.

"Okay," I can hear him fumbling with something, "watch your eyes."

I place a hand over my eyes just as Harry whispers " _Lumos._ "

I sigh as the space around us lights up. _Why didn't I think of that?_

The space around us is revealed to be about four and a half feet high and essentially a long, dark hallway that I can't see the end of. I squint at the edge of the light, taking a few brave steps forward before lighting my own wand.

"If something attacks us," I explain at Harry's confused look, "one of us needs to be able to fire something back."

He nods and follows me down the passageway. We walk in silence for about half an hour, maybe - I couldn't truly tell - before my foot smacks into something and the silence is penetrated by my loud swears.

Harry grabs the back of my sweater just before I hit the ground, hauling me back onto my feet and moving me away from whatever I tripped on, at the same time moving his lit wand forward. "I think...I'm pretty sure it's a step. Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," I wave him off and move my wand slightly upwards to show what was indeed a staircase, moving steeply upwards. "I think we found it."

"What else would it be, Ori?"

"I don't know...with our luck it might be Snape's office," I shrug.

He shivers and doesn't say anything, just marching on ahead and up the stairs, leaving me no choice but to follow, bracing my hands against the wall for stability.

"Stop," Harry calls softly as we reach what I assume is the top, if only so I don't slam into his back and fall down the stairs. " _Nox._ "

I echo him, once again plunging us both into darkness. I freeze as he takes the last few steps and there's some shuffling and a creaking noise as a small strip of light appears, most likely the trap door opening. "Nobody's here. Come on."

He hoists himself out and I clamber out after him, blinking slightly as my eyes adjust to the sudden light. I shake my head and standing, brushing of my jeans, and take in my surroundings – crates stamped with _"Honeydukes: est. 1493,"_ , confirming that we were in the right place.

Harry glances at me, the Invisibility Cloak in his hands. "Do you want this?"

I shake my head. "You take it, you need it more."

"Or we could both use it," he suggests.

I shake my head again. "You and I both know that we'd be too busy _not_ tripping over each other to do anything worthwhile."

"But Ori, the Wizarding World kind of wants your head right now-"

"And Sirius Black wants _yours_."

"Ours," he corrects.

I roll my eyes. "More likely yours than mine, Harry. It's always you."

"But…you look just like _him_!" Harry argues, evidently trying a new tactic. "And people are going to recognize you, what about the kids-"

"Harry, shut up for a moment, yeah?" I ask calmly, and he snaps his jaw shut. "Okay. First of all, how are people going to recognize me from _him_ when they don't even know what _he_ looks like?"

"The newspapers-"

"The newspapers show a deranged, snarling man whom I hope to Merlin I'm not related to," I interject. "I have a picture of…of _him,_ taken about two years before I was born, and it looks absolutely nothing like the posters. Nobody will notice me. You, however," I reason, "are the famous Boy-Who-Lived, James Potter with Lily's eyes and that lightning bolt scar. You aren't exactly inconspicuous."

Harry, apparently, does know when to admit defeat, because all he does is sigh. "Fine. But will you at least stay under it until you get out of the shop?"

I nod, and he throws the clock over the both of us just as we hear footsteps in the distance. The footsteps turn out to be young shop aide, and we slip out behind him while he's busy with grabbing something.

We move towards the door, being careful not to step on any toes, including each other's. Harry stops as we spot Hermione and Ron near the 'Unusual Tastes' section, and I finally understand blood pops (yes, it _is_ real blood). "You'll be okay?" he whispers, barely audible.

I nod. "I'll be alright."

"If you say so…oh, do you want anything?"

I give a small shrug, being careful not to move the cloak at all. "Whatever you think looks good. Oh, and some Chocolate Frogs; I really want Falco Aesalon," I tell him, naming the first-ever wizard to become an Animagus. Not only did I want his card, but I hoped the card itself might hold more information before I started brewing the potion; I was slightly behind schedule because I needed a place to brew and I hadn't found one yet.

Harry nods and squeezes my shoulder. I duck and slip from beneath the cloak, making sure nobody can see him while I do so. I quickly leave the shop, thankfully being noticed by no one. Once outside I quickly duck into the shadows; yes, I had told Harry that nobody would recognize me, but to stroll leisurely down the middle of a crowded street in broad daylight would just be arrogant.

But even the shadows hold a good view of the village; there's a bookstore or two, a sport shop (they were still advertising the Firebolt and it _still_ looked amazing, but I'd imagine it was worth more galleons than I had), and even WWN – Wizarding Wireless Network – headquarters.

Around noon I pop into the Three Broomsticks and place and order of fish and chips for lunch; again, nobody recognizes me, mainly because this is the first time I've been here as Orissa Black and not Allison Potter, and I'm able to chat aimlessly with Madam Rosemerta as I eat and ask her to bundle up my leftovers after I'm finished.

I then make my way across the street to the apothecary, deciding on both restocking my ordinary potions ingredients and getting the more everyday items I needed for the Animagus potion. The less ordinary items, I'd decided, I was going to buy off Fred and George if they could get them; nobody knew where they go their supplies and they were masters at getting stuff past confiscation.

Around fifteen minutes later, with a bag full of Asphodel, Mandrake leaves, and horsehair, I stroll back out into the alleyway and amble aimlessly down the street, no particular destination in mind.

About halfway back to Honeydukes, behind Madame Puddifoot's (a very ugly tea shop; it looked like a cross between a pink old lady's house and the Divination classroom), I suddenly can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched. A quick glance around doesn't reveal anything, but my hand inches towards my back pocket anyways.

A chill suddenly washes over me, and I panic slightly before shaking my head and berating myself - it was October, for Merlin's sake, it was going to be a bit chilly!

But the cold doesn't move on like a natural breeze might; it plants itself down and intensifies. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on edge now, and the alley around me has gone completely, utterly, _deathly_ silent. Not to mention that it's getting far too dark for this time in the afternoon.

I slowly turn around, a small part of my mind feeling like a horribly clichéd Muggle horror movie, and still don't see anything.

Until I look up, that is.

And see a small horde of Dementors, of course, all focused on _me_.

I yelp softly and release my hand from my wand - it won't be much help; I don't know any anti-Dementor spells - and simply opt to take off running before the voices start in my head. I didn't particularly feel like losing my soul today, thanks.

I somehow manage to remember my potions bag as I take off through the alleyways, the Dementors giving chase.

 _Just keep running_ , I coach myself, _just keep running, just keep running, running, running..._ I shake my head a little. _Where am I running to?_

To my credit, I only falter slightly before setting into a mindless jog to consider my options.

 _Honeydukes? No, too many people. Too many people here, in general...school!_ A figurative lightbulb lights up as I take a particularly sharp right. _I could go to school; nothing can get past the wards._

 _Well, almost nothing,_ I amend with a soft chuckle, _except for mountain trolls. Plus, the teachers have to know some spells to help._

Decision made, I turn north - I had seen groups of students coming in from this direction - and set into a ground-eating run towards the school grounds.

I lose the Dementors after about twenty minutes or so (I really needed to get a watch) and the castle comes into view about ten minutes after that.

I don't stop running yet; I needed to find someone to help, I needed to stop shaking, I needed-

I _needed_ to watch where I was going. And not crash into people.

I land on my butt with an undignified yelp

"Miss Black?" Professor Lupin nods at me as he brushes off his jacket and offers me a hand. "What are you doing out here?"

I don't answer – I'm still shivering and trembling and probably really pale from the Dementors.

Professor Lupin seems to notice this and narrows his eyes. "Was it the Dementors?"

"Y-Yes."

He lightly grabs my elbow and steers me into the castle, taking a few twists and turns before arriving back at his classroom. The professor busies himself with something as I take a seat.

"I don't know _what_ you were doing on school grounds when you've clearly been told to use caution," he tells me, "but first priority is your wellbeing." He sets a mug down in front of me; a quick sniff tells me that the steaming brown liquid inside is hot chocolate. "Drink up. Make yourself comfortable."

"Comfortable?" I repeat with a raised eyebrow, and he nods, so I shrug before scooting the chair back a little bit and kicking my feet up onto the edge of the desk, crossed at the ankles. "Thank you, professor."

"My pleasure, Miss Black. Are you warming up now?"

I nod, my hands curled around the warm mug. "Yes, sir, I am."

He nods, apparently satisfied, as he sits down in his desk chair. "Now, how about telling me what you were doing out?"

I hesitate slightly, before deciding they can't punish me too badly for something I'd already done. Besides, it's not like I did anything illegal while in the village. "…I just wanted to go to Hogsmeade, sir."

"Did you have a slip signed?" he asks calmly, sipping the tea he'd gotten himself.

"No, sir," I reply quietly. "But the form had to be signed by a parent or guardian, sir, and my parent wasn't going to be signing anything soon." I explain bitterly. "And my guardians…well…sir…"

He nods, muttering something that sounds curse-like and I politely ignore. "I know about your… _guardians_ …Miss Black."

I give him an odd look, and he hurries to explain. "I knew your father, James, and another boy, along with your moth – Lily. I knew Lily, and Lily complained about her sister's dislike for 'our kind' at every opportunity."

"Ah," I nod. "Yes, my 'Aunt' Petunia."

"But, any matter, do you realize how much danger you put yourself in by even leaving the castle? You stand the chance of being recognized as your father's daughter; you could be his twin."

"I _know_ that," I snap, then realize what I've said to whom and deflate a bit. "Er…sorry, Professor."

"It's alright, Miss Black," Lupin reassures me. "You can talk to me if something's bothering you."

"Yeah," I counter carefully, "but how many will hear?"

The DADA professor doesn't reply, just flicks his wand at the open doorway. " _Muffliato_. There. Now nobody can hear what we say, but you aren't pressured to stay. Is that alright?"

I give him a careful look. "Nobody?"

"Nobody," he confirms. "A loud buzzing noise will fill the ears of all attempted eavesdroppers."

"Okay…" I settle into my chair with a heavy sigh. "I'm tired of being compared to…to _him_."

"Oh?"

"I mean, I know the similarities must be there – that's just biology. Harry looks just like _his_ father, so why shouldn't I? But James Potter wasn't in Azkaban for murdering a dozen Muggles and one wizard! James Potter didn't go hunt down a man when he knew, _he knew_ , he had a one year old daughter waiting at home! And now he's quite possibly _insane_ – no matter how much I want to hope to contrary – and he's hunting Harry and I! I don't _want_ to be compared to that!" I rant, getting up from the chair to pace the length of the classroom briskly.

"You might want to keep drinking the hot chocolate, Miss Black," Lupin advises me calmly. "It does have a certain calming quality."

I nod and plop back down into the chair, sipping my drink.

"I'm not going to say I understand, Miss Black. I'm not going to say I understand, because I can't. But I empathize. Please understand that it's different when _I_ compare you to your father then when, say, Professor Snape does so. I knew Sirius – he was funny, brave, courageous, and loyal to a fault, whereas Professor Snape thought he was-"

"'A self-centered, arrogant, snotty, rich boy swine,'" I quote "Or at least that's what he tells me in class."

Lupin narrows his eyes and an emotion I can't decipher quickly flits over his face, but only for a second. "Anyways, it's all in perspective. He…Sirius wasn't always a demented mass murder."

"But you're the only one that remembers that, sir," I whisper. "The rest of the world suspects me as an accomplice to murder."

"You were only one year and about two months old, that day. How…?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "People are idiots sometimes."

"Just remember that, Miss Black, and you should be fine," he assures me.

"Should be?" I snort. "With all due respect, sir, Harry Potter is my best friend. That's no comfort."

He shrugs. "I-" He's cut off by someone yelling down the hall. Lupin is immediately up and out the door, and I'm hot on his heels, hot chocolate – which was now lukewarm at best – forgotten.

We find the commotion to be coming out of the Entrance Hall, where Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore were locked in a heated discussion, with Harry looking on.

"-and if the boy's head was in Hogsmeade, the rest of him must have been too!" Snape insists.

I groan softly and slip next to Harry's side, grabbing his arm. "Harry James Potter," I hiss, "what did you _do_?"

"Malfoy was being a prat, and-"

"I don't care!" I snap softly. "What did _you_ do?"

"…the cloak slipped," he admits softly. "My head…"

I groan again. "You're an idiot. Do you know that?"

He stays quiet.

"You're going to get detention for this."

"I know."

"You deserve it?"

"Probably."

The teachers eventually reached a verdict, after about fifteen minutes of debate: a week's worth of detention with Snape and fifty points from Gryffindor.

I sigh as we trudge back to the Common Room for the night. "So, otherwise, how did you like the village?"

"I liked it. Hey, guess what we say at the sports shop…" I listen to him babble about the newest Quidditch gear as we make our way back, making a note to look into the Chaser gear he's talking about.

"Oh!" he digs in his pocket for something. "Here."

I take the goody bag of sweets out of his bag, grinning as I see the Chocolate Frog card I was after, a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, some Peppery Imps, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Ice Mice, Fudge Flies, and Crystallized Pineapple. "Did you buy out the entire shop? I won't be able to sleep for weeks!"

He shrugs. "All the better for Hermione, then. You snore."

"I do not."

"You do."

"Do not."

"Do."

"Shut up."


	16. Chapter 16

"Ori! Ori, wake up!"

I groan as I roll over, blearily cracking an eye open. "Wha?"

"Come on, get up! The match is today!" The owner of the disembodied voice yanks my blanket off, almost taking me with it had I not grabbed a bedpost.

I groan softly as I shake the cobwebs out of my head, blinking at…Ginny. "What?"

"Orissa Black!" She puts her hands on her hips. "Do not tell me you forgot the Quidditch game today!"

I blink again. _What…Oh! There's a match against Hufflepuff today…_ "My first game!"

"Exactly!" Ginny exclaims, handing me my scarlet robes. "Go get dressed, Chaser."

I grab my robes from her and head into the bathroom, quickly changing from the tank top and pajama bottoms I slept in to the red and yellow long sleeve team shirt, the tan pants of the uniform, and then slipping on the scarlet robes with gold laces in the front and my last name and number five in gold on the back.

I exit that bathroom quickly, going to sit on my bed as I lace up my boots, Ginny still chattering away.

"Your first match! Are you excited? It's against Hufflepuff, which is good for you, since they're all really nice. I mean, the worst that could happen is a concussion, maybe a broken nose-"

"Ginny," I tug on my last lace and stand up. "You aren't helping."

"Sorry," she blushes, following me as I exit the dorm.

"No big deal," I grin, "You meant well. Hey, where's Hermione?"

"In the Great Hall, trying to shove some toast down Harry's throat."

"I'm not going to fare much better," I groan. "I'm not going to be able to keep anything down."

Ginny gives an exasperated sigh. "What is it with Quidditch players? You need to at least try."

I sigh as we slip into the Great Hall, the room already abuzz even at this early hour.

"Black!"

I wince and duck my head slightly as I hear the cocky drawl of the Slytherin Prince.

"You're playing today."

"I…am," I reply carefully, not turning around.

"Whose side?"

"What?" I finally turn around to face Malfoy, caught off guard by the question.

He raises an eyebrow. "I asked you which side you were playing for."

"Are you blind _and_ daft?" I ask him incredulously, "Because I'm sure as heck not wearing yellow right now."

"But are you sure you won't switch sides?" Malfoy probes, seemingly innocent. "Betray your team like Daddy Dearest did?"

I stare at him, stunned speechless, trying not to turn and run.

"Bug _off_ , Malfoy," Ginny snarls from behind me.

"Oh, Black, you have a protector now! Blood traitors stick together, I suppose-"

"Shut _up_ , you bigoted idiot!" Ginny snaps, not giving the blonde boy a chance to respond before she grabs my sleeve and pulls me over to the Gryffindor table. "Bloody git."

"You can say that again," Harry agrees as I sit down. "Good morning, 'Rissa. Are you ready?"

I just mutely shake my head and grab a piece of toast.

"You're going to eat that, right?" Hermione glances at my plate. "You should probably grab some fruit."

"I'll be fine Hermione," I insist. "Just…um…"

"Going over game strategies?" she asks sarcastically, and I quickly nod.

"Why?" Ron interjects. "You're not going to need them against-"

"She was being sarcastic, Ronald," I deadpan, and he blushes. "Right. I…I knew that."

I snort softly at my ginger friend and idly nibble on my toast. "How's Wood doing?"

Harry glances over my head at where the seventh years normally sit. "Well he's not eating either. I think he's worried about the fact that this is your first time with an actual opponent and there is a certain speculation surrounding your name."

"He isn't really afraid of me switching sides, right?" I ask quietly.

"No," Harry assures me quickly. "No, no, just the security risk having you out on an open field poses."

"Right," I scoff. "What's Sirius going to do, sprout wings and snatch me off my broom? Hey Hermione, how's that appeal coming along?"

"I almost have it," she assures us, noticing the subject change but not saying anything. "I just need to find some records for a few things…"

I nod and slowly stand as she turns back to her book – Runes, judging by the cover. "Well, Harry, I suppose we should be going."

"You don't have to sound so miserable," Harry argues as we walk out of the Great Hall.

I shrug. _It's not my fault I feel like I'm walking to my doom._

* * *

We make it down the pitch in about five minutes, smoothly blending into the crowd of five other people. I find a bench to park myself on and begin strapping on my leather knee guards, gloves, and arm braces.

"Black?" I glance up at my name being said – in a much gentler tone then when Malfoy had addressed me – to see Wood standing there in full robes, two brooms in his hands. "Orissa."

"Oliver," I nod, smoothing down a strap. "What's up?"

"You will be, in about five minutes," he retorts, handing me one of the brooms. "It's a Cleansweep Six, the best I could find."

"Thanks. I need to get my own broom, I just keep forgetting."

"I can loan you my copy of _Which Broomstick_ if you want," he offers. "There's a really cool Nimbus 2001 in there."

"Isn't that what Malfoy flies?"

He nods.

"Then no," I wrinkle my nose. "I don't want to own anything Malfoy thinks is good."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," he laughs. "Two minutes. Come on."

He lines us up single file, the order being Seeker, Chaser, Chaser, Chaser, Beater, Beater, and finally Keeper, which put Harry in the front, Wood at the tail, and me between Fred and Angelina.

"You know the drill, people! We got this. We have the newest talent in the school," I blush as everyone grins at me, "an unbeaten Seeker, two of the best Beaters ever-"

"Aw, Oliver!" Fred coos.

"You flatter us!" George finishes.

"- and two more excellent Chasers."

"And a legendary Keeper," Fred adds, the rest of the team echoing his statement.

"Alright, come on you lot," Wood orders. "Showtime."

We march out onto the field to the deafening roar of the crowd, Lee Jordan running commentary as usual.

"And here are your Gryffindors – Potter, Spinnet, Johnson, Black-" he ignores the murmurs that break out at my name "-Weasley, Weasley, and your team captain, Wood!"

Our side of the stands erupt in cheers, banners waving in the wind.

"And look at the Hufflepuffs this year – a nice lineup, but will it be enough? This is the first game with Diggory as Captain, so let's see how that plays out."

Madam Hooch takes the field, giving a short blast on her whistle. "Captains, shake hands!"

Wood and Diggory amiably shake hands, the Hufflepuff captain bearing no ill will while the Gryffindor one at least looked tense.

"Mount your brooms!" Madam Hooch orders.

I swing my leg over my broom and prepare to lift off, thirteen others around me copying my actions.

"Three…two…one…"

The whistle blows and I immediately push off, adrenaline banishing the chill of the overcast-yet-not-storming morning as I scan for the Quaffle and Lee starts his first string of commentary.

"Gryffindor in possession – Spinnet's unstoppable, come on, Alicia! – oh, oh no, blocked by Applebee! Everyone's okay, not to worry folks. Hufflepuff in possession, Applebee is on the move, tailed by Johnson…"

I look over to see a yellow blur streaking down field, followed at about two feet by a red one. I quickly dart across Applebee's path, barely missing a collision as I swipe the Quaffle and take off before he can realize what just happened.

"Gryffindor in possession, nice moves Black! Come on, come on!"

"WATCH OUT!" a voice calls, and I duck just in time to avoid a Bludger, followed closely by Fred and Anthony Rickett, from the other team.

I take a second to recover before speeding off again, getting closer and closer to Hufflepuff's rings, but a quick glance backwards proves that I've got all three opposing Chasers on my tail.

Suddenly Alicia and Angelina are on either side. "Pass it here!" Alicia orders. "You two take care of these!"

I nod and easily toss the Quaffle over, quickly applying the brakes and sending myself into an intentional backflip before speeding off in a zig-zag pattern across the field.

"Gryffindor in possession, Spinnet closing in – come on, come on…YES! GRYFFINDOR SCORES! Ten-zero, Gryffindor!"

I give a small cheer as Alicia and Wood exchange a high five before a sudden gust of chilly wind makes me use both hands to steady my broom. I glance at the sky; it wasn't raining yet, but I wasn't going to count that out yet.

"Hufflepuff in possession now, it seems that Macavoy's playing keep-away…go, Angelina, go! Johnson speeding after Macavoy – come on, she's almost there…no! Foul! Foul!"

I look in the direction of the commotion to see Angelina fumbling to gain control of her broom and quickly fly over. "What happened?"

"Rickett slammed into her," Alicia informs me sourly. "I can't tell you why."

I turn to Angelina, who was just now gaining control of her broom over the wind. "You okay?"

She nods and waves me off. "Get back to the game!"

I hesitantly peel off and up slightly to get a better vantage point.

"Penalty to Gryffindor!" Madam Hooch calls. "For an unprovoked attack on their Chaser!"

"Black!" Angelina calls me over. "Take it."

"Are you sure?" I ask uncertainly. "Maybe Alicia should…"

"Nope." Alicia shakes her head. "Come on, Orissa, you got this!"

"If you're sure," I exhale and she hands me the Quaffle, patting me on the shoulder before flying away.

"Alright, it looks like Black has the Quaffle, will she make the throw?"

I take off down the field, flying just slow enough to not lose control but still quickly asses the other Keeper, Herbert Fleet. _He's flying a little high,_ I observe, _what if…_

"Black is going for the throw - that's interesting, she's flying a little low, don't you think? Can she make it...Yes! Fleet cannot block it! Twenty-zero, Gryffindor!"

I pump my fist in the air as Alicia and Angelina zoom up to me, one of them ruffling my hair while the other gives me a high five. "Knew you could do it!"

There's a little more celebration before the whistle is blown once more and the game resumes.

"Gryffindor in possession now, Spinnet tearing down the field, Weasley – Fred, I think – providing cover; oh, wait, there's Applebee…oh, whoa! What an effort but Hufflepuff's got the ball now, coming back up the field…"

My attention is forcefully ripped from the commentary by a howling gust of wind almost knocking me into one of the columns surrounding the pitch.

Lee's almost shouting by now to be heard over the wailing winds. "The storm's really picking up, folks-"

I swear he jinxed it.

Because as soon as he said that there was a huge roar, a flash, and then the floodgates opened.

The field erupts in chaos; nobody can see where they're going, everyone is soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds, and I'm pretty sure everyone is as cold as I am.

"Twenty-ten, Gryffindor," Lee shouts, "although I think that shot by Macavoy might've been a fluke - no, no, they're counting it!"

Suddenly a whistle is heard over the wind and Madam Hooch's voice, probably magnified, calls out: "Time out! Both teams!"

I sag with relief, quickly descending in a path that slowly leads me towards the Gryffindor side of the pitch. My boots hit the soggy ground with a splash and sink in about an inch, causing me to stumble slightly before regaining my foot and shivering legs, the pants of my robes soaked almost completely through.

I eventually find my way over to the team, all of us shivering slightly as we huddle underneath a small overhang on the side of the locker room.

"How's everyone doing?" Wood asks almost immediately.

"Just peachy!" I reply. "We're not wet, cold, or tired at all!"

He harrumphs and rolls his eyes. "Can we keep playing though?"

"I suppose…" Alicia agrees hesitantly. "I mean, the Quaffle is a little slippery, but I can adapt."

"I can't," Harry interrupts. He motions towards his glasses. "They're all wet, I won't be able to see anything, let alone the Snitch."

"I can't see much either," I admit. "The rain is really coming down."

Oliver looks thoughtful for a second before snapping his fingers and hurrying through a side door into the locker room and emerging not long after with a crate marked _Eye Protection._

"Here," he starts handing them out. "Goggles! Under water-repellant charms, too. A third year charmed them for me; brilliant, she was."

I share a look with Harry. "Was her name Hermione, by chance?"

"Yeah," Oliver replies off-handedly, "why?"

I grin proudly. "She's one of my best friends."

He nods and shoves a pair of goggles at me.

I snap them over my head, blinking a few times to get used to the unfamiliar feeling before glancing around. My vision had a slight fish-bowl effect, but it wasn't too bad. It was playable. I turn back to Oliver. "I don't assume you can place warming charms on us?" I ask hopefully.

He shakes his head mournfully. "I wish, but it might place us at an unfair advantage. We don't know if Diggory's using them, so we can't, either."

"Alright," I sigh, stretching slightly before mounting my broom again.

Wood calls for everyone else to do the same before signaling Madam Hooch. Not even thirty seconds later, a whistle blows. "Resume game!"

I speed right out of the gate to grab the Quaffle, switching into a high banking curve to avoid the other three Chasers until I could pass.

"Gryffindor in possession! Black really has the boys on a tight leash there! Oh, a tight swerve there – watch out for that Bludger – okay, Weasley got it out of the way. She passes it to Spinnet, that was a nice Reverse pass, and Spinnet drags them down the other way-"

I keep my eyes on Alicia as she drags the three opposing Chasers in the other direction, taking a moment to catch my breath.

I was still cold as I'd ever been, my hands were numb (and possibly frozen to the broom handle) even under the leather gloves I had to wear, and I just felt like going inside after the game and curling in front of the fire with a month's worth of blankets, but I had to admit I would feel better if we won this game – not only was it my first, but it would earn me redemption in my peers' eyes.

"Black!"

I glance up just in time to catch the Quaffle, suddenly finding three Chasers in yellow robes headed straight for me while Alicia lets her broom descend safely.

I take off in the same direction she came from, towards the Gryffindor goal posts. I make sure I have around fifteen feet worth of distance on them before suddenly turning around and racing straight towards them, diving at the last second and speeding towards the other goal posts.

"Is it – yes! Potter has seen the Snitch!"

The crowd fall under a bated hush as a red blur streaks past me and up into the clouds. I barely have time to dodge a collision with a yellow blur – Preece, I think – and dart sharply upwards and into the clouds.

There's cheering, clapping, and whistling coming from below, Lee's commentary, and a constant underlying current of howling wind.

And then there's nothing.

No. Sound. Whatsoever.

None.

I'm so stunned by this wall of silence that I drop the Quaffle straight into Preece's hands, but I barely notice.

It's like the wind just abruptly missed it's cue to howl and somebody placed a silencing charm on the entire crowd.

I try to get back to normal pitch level, but I can't _move_. I want to, but my brain and limbs aren't communicating.

And then someone screams…

 _"Padfoot!"_

Then there's a new sound – laughter. A young person's laughter by the sound of things.

 _"Dada! Da! Da! Daaaaada!"_

A young girl.

 _"Da da da da dadada!"_

An older laugh joins the young one, and at first it sounds, happy, joyful, playful…

…but then it takes a darker turn, into hysterical territory and on the border of insane.

 _"PADFOOT! NO!"_

 _"NOOOOO!"_

And then I know no more.


	17. Chapter 17

" _I can't believe you caught her…"_

"… _a miracle, really…"_

"… _been out of it for so long…"_

I become aware of the whispers around me and try to see who it is, but as soon as the first sliver of light passes my eyelids I'm forced to snap them shut again with a groan because it feels like the Headless Hunt was playing polo with _my_ head.

"Ms. Black?" a soft voice asks. "Are you awake?"

"Hurss…"

"Okay," the voice is more urgent now, "where does it hurt?"

"Head," I grunt weakly, "headache."

There's a soft rustling sound, a pop, and something cool is pressed up against my lips. "Drink," the voice orders.

"It's not poison," a second voice, a slightly younger one, interjects, and there's a grunt and a yelp.

I decide that I don't have much of a choice _but_ to drink; and, hoping that the second voice was right and I wasn't about to cause my own death, I open my mouth and swallow the minty, cool, slightly molasses-like liquid as it flows into my mouth.

Whatever that was, I'm not dead after some time and my headache was fading fast, so I deem it safe to open my eyes again, for real this time.

I slowly blink them open, waiting for my vision to fall into focus. A few more blinks reveal two figures standing at the foot of my bed – Angelina and Alicia. "Hey guys."

"Orissa," Angelina chirps. "Glad to see you back in the land of the living."

I shrug. "Yeah well, at least I got caught up on my sleep. What happened?"

The two other Chasers glance at each other. "You don't really want to know…" the chorus.

"Yeah, I kinda do," I insist. "I would really like to know how I fell off my broom in the middle of the game."

They still give me a dubious glance and say nothing.

"If you don't tell me," I add slyly, "I'm sure Ron, Harry, or Hermione will."

"Fine." Alicia huffs. "A few Dementors showed up on the pitch – it got really silent all of a sudden while I was helping George go after Applebee. And it got cold too; really cold, like not just the storm, but more like…"

"Ice?" I suggest softly, and they both nod.

"And then," Alicia continues, "all of a sudden, everyone started screaming. You and Harry were both falling. Dumbledore was the first to react, he cast an Arresto Momentum spell on Harry, but we," she waves between Angelina and herself, "could tell you weren't going to stop in time. Angelina dropped the Quaffle and flew over to catch you with about five feet to spare."

Angelina blushes. "It wasn't so heroic – I was just making sure my third Chaser didn't, you know, die."

"You say it so offhandedly," I grin. "But thank you."

She nods.

"Um," I glance around me. "How long-"

"Were you out?" I nod at Angelina. "The game was three days ago, it's Halloween. Harry was only out for a few hours, but Madam Pomfrey said you were out longer because the storm made you catch a slight cold and your body decided to recuperate while asleep."

"The game was three-" I start suddenly. "The game?"

They sigh. "Diggory caught the snitch just as we caught you. We lost twenty to one-sixty. And we think Oliver's still trying to drown himself in the showers."

"Oh," I slump against my pillows. "…sorry."

"It's not your fault!" they insist simultaneously. "Diggory insisted it wasn't fair, he wanted a rematch, but even Wood had to admit he caught it fair and square."

I sigh softly and nod. "So when do I get out of here?"

"Madam Pomfrey wants to check you one more time," Alicia replies, "and she should be here in about half an hour. If she clears you, you can get out just before the feast."

I nod again. "You guys probably have other stuff to do. You can go."

They look uneasy but give their last goodbyes and well-wishes and shuffle out.

And then I'm waiting on four people: the nurse and the three teenagers I'd honestly _already_ expected to see.

Sure enough, I'm only left alone for about three minutes before three more people burst violently into the room.

"Ori! You're awake!"

I laugh and accept one of Hermione's gentler hugs, Harry squeezing my shoulder gently, and Ron beams at me and offers a "Glad you're alright."

After they all have seats crowded around my bed, I glance at Harry. "Are you okay?"

He grins, but I can see the hesitation clear on his face. "I'm okay."

I stare at him for another moment before deciding not to pressure him in front of Ron and Hermione and instead corner him later. "Okay."

Hermione digs something out of her pocket and holds it up, revealing it to be my wand. "I got this for you, by the way. Madam Pomfrey won't let you have it until you get released, though."

I put on a fake pout, causing all three of my friends to burst out laughing, gripping something solid to keep themselves upright.

Once Ron composes himself, he pulls a cellophane wrapped bundle out of his pocket. "The crystallized pineapple stuff, if you want it."

I nod eagerly and pull out a piece, nibbling idly on it while they chatter about what I've missed over the past three days.

"-and Professor Lupin's been giving me anti-Dementor lessons."

I blink as I catch the tail end of Harry's sentence. "Hm?"

"it's called a Patronus," he explains. "It's a really cool spell. I can ask if you want to join us?"

"Mmhm," I nod, swallowing the piece of pineapple. "That sounds awesome."

He nods. "And did you know he knew my parents? They were friends in school."

"He knew my father too," I tell him. "I'm not sure if he knew my mother though."

"Nobody's mentioned you having a mother," Hermione comments. "Who do you think it is?"

"Who would be dumb enough to fall in love with _him_?" Ron asks incredulously. Hermione reaches over to slug him on the shoulder since he is conveniently out of my reach.

"For your information," I bite out, being careful to choose my words _ever_ so carefully, "Sirius Black was not always deranged."

"Alright, alright," Ron placates softly, holding up his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Anyways," Hermione speaks up, purposefully a bit too loud. "How about that Quidditch game?"

"We lost," I lament. "My first game ever, and I lost."

"Ori, you were doing amazing out there!" Hermione chirps cheerfully.

"Yeah," I agree glumly, "until the Dementors showed up."

"Oh, come off it!" she huffs irritably. "You did wonderfully out there and you know it."

I choose to not verbally answer that. "Did anyone get hurt, other than us?"

Harry shakes his head. "The rest of them just got wet, cold, and sore. Although…"

I raise an eyebrow. "Although?"

He sighs heavily and hands me a small shard of wood. I take it gingerly from his fingers, turning it over in the light.

Something catches my eye, and I squint at the gold lettering imbedded in the wood: a gold _N_ , then there's half an _I,_ and the top of an _M._

"N...I...M…Nimbus." I glance up at Harry. "Is this you?"

He nods.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry." I know how much his broom meant to him.

"It got blown into the Whomping Willow," he tells me mournfully. "And you know how the Whomping Willow likes being hit."

I nod. "Well, look on the bright side: this gives me ideas on what to get you for Christmas!"

He rolls his eyes, but any reply was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey bustling into the infirmary and making a beeline towards my bed. "Give me some room, please. Hello, Miss Black. How are you feeling?"

"Better than they tell me I was," I reply and force a shrug down as she pokes me, prods me, and waves her wand a few times.

"Yes, well," she waves me off and continues her checkup for another minute before stepping back and fixing Harry and I with a stern look. "How is it that you two, even if you aren't siblings, still get into the same amount of trouble?"

Harry rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I don't usually go looking for trouble."

She seems satisfied with that answer and then turns to me. "And you?"

"Um...it's an inherited trait?" I try weakly.

"Well," she sighs, "it did seem Mr. Black was in here quite often. You are healthy, Miss Black, but please do try to avoid any future encounters with Dementors."

"I don't go _looking_ for them," I grumble quietly as I hop of the hospital bed and go into a back room to change back into my school robes.

Once I'm changed, I practically run from the hospital wing, snatching my wand back from Hermione as I pass. "So," I chirp as we head to the Great Hall, "what did I miss?"

"I got the appeal finished!" Hermione mentions brightly. "Hagrid and Buckbeak go to court in a few days."

"I hope they get cleared," I huff. "If that Hippogriff gets killed because of _Malfoy_.." I leave the threat hanging, and Hermione nods.

"Don't worry," she looks at me with absolute certainty. "He won't."

I sigh and shake off the conversation as we enter the Great Hall. Once the first person catches sight of me, they lean over to the person next to them and the whispers start to spread like wildfire; I just barely catch phrases and words like _traitor_ and _father_ as I pick up my pace and beeline towards the table.

"What didn't you tell me?" I demand quietly as we sit down. "What happened with... _him?_ "

Harry shifts uneasily in his seat, poking at his roast beef with his fork. "Um…"

" _Guys_ ," I push, feeling a little bit of my usually angry intensity returning. "Come _on_ , seriously, it can't be that bad-"

"Sirius Black's been spotted," Ron blurts quickly. "He's been spotted not too far from here, and they think he's headed towards the school, and most of the school thinks you're a traitor and feeding him information."

"Oh," I whisper quietly.

 _Oh._

It _was_ that bad.


	18. Chapter 18

Halloween doesn't usually bother me.

I mean, I could understand how Muggles saw it – goblins, witches, ghosts, evil spirits, haunted houses, the devil's birthday, etc.

But come _on_ , Halloween was practically a celebration of my reality! From September 1st until June 19th I lived in a spooky old castle; which was haunted by numerous, friendly (sans the Bloody Baron) ghosts; I had been battling something worse than the devil or any evil spirit (not that I have much to make a comparison) since I was eleven; I trusted my money (and only my money) to goblins; and I was a female magic user – a witch.

So, no: Halloween didn't usually scare me because there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

But this year, I could feel…something…in the air, and it was giving me goosebumps. Maybe it was my father's breakout, or his newfound proximity to the school…I didn't know, but the shadows seemed slightly more shadowy this year… _which was a really bad description. Dang it, Orissa!_

I shake my head and pull Harry's cloak a little tighter around my shoulders and pick up my pace a little as I round the last corner and stop in front of a door, glancing down at the map to make sure my dot was in the right place – and it was.

I let out a breath as I push the door open, slipping into the familiar bathroom – the one with the snake on the sink.

And the ghost.

"Myrtle?" I call out as I removed the cloak and fold it neatly, hanging it on one of the coat pegs that adorned the stall doors. "Are you in here?"

I wince as there's a god-awful half-gurgling, half-choking sound from the second stall over and Moaning Myrtle shoots out, wailing loudly as ever. "W-What do you w-want? C-Can't you people just let m-me be?"

I sigh and grit my teeth. "Myrtle, I have a proposition for you, but I can't tell you if you're too busy crying."

The crying stops, and Myrtle's still-misty hazel eyes blink owlishly at me. "A proposition?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I need to use a stall to brew a potion for the next two months."

"A potion?" she parrots. "What is it? Can't you just use the dungeons?"

I take a deep breath. "To be frank with you, Myrtle, I'm not going to spend a second that I don't have to in the dungeons. And it's something that's…um…"

"Illegal?" she suggests.

"Frowned upon," I correct because _becoming_ an underage Animagus was one thing, but not registering was where it entered illegality territory, and technically I was supposed to be supervised by an over age, experienced, registered Animagus. "Not quite illegal, although I would appreciate if you didn't mention it to anyone."

"Why here?"

"Because," I shrug, "nobody ever comes in here-" I grimace at my own words, breaking off as Myrtle starts wailing again.

"Y-You're so m-mean! I-I know I'm h-horrible, b-but you d-didn't have t-to point it out-t!"

"It's because of the snake!" I have to raise my voice to be heard over her sobs, which pause momentarily. "You didn't let me finish, Myrtle – you have the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in your bathroom, or didn't you notice?"

I half expect my sarcasm to set her off again, but instead she just gives me a sad little grin – which, I suspect, is the only kind she's capable of – and nods. "I guess you're right…what's in it for me?"

I smirk – I had been prepared for this. "I have a friend in Ravenclaw; your old House?" she nods wistfully, and I continue. "I can get you redemption, at least among your old peers."

"They're not really my _peers_ …" she mumbles, then shakes her head. "Fine. Two months. I won't tell anyone."

"Good," I nod. "And…Myrtle?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any problem – at all – with my lineage?"

She shakes her head again. "Your father was never mean to me. Not necessarily nice, but never mean."

I shrug and make my way over to the gurgling stall. "Good enough."

I open the stall and check, first, the amount of water on the floor; then I take my shrunken cauldron out of my pocket, setting it on the ground in front of me and making sure to leave some room for walking before taking out my wand. " _Engorgio_."

I give a little yelp of success as my cauldron quickly becomes full-sized, and I maneuver myself downwards so I can see the built-in little burner mine has on the bottom. " _Incendio."_

Once I have a small fire going under my cauldron, I slip out of the stall and to the sink – one of the snake-free ones – and turn on the water, using the Levitation charm to bring the right amount of water back to my cauldron. After I've got that boiling, I drop in the first ingredient, according to the Animagus book – forty-seven scarab beetles, which I was supposed to let sit overnight.

I quickly make sure that I haven't left a mess or any evidence before grabbing the Invisibility Cloak again. "Goodnight, Myrtle. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Black. And…thank you."

"My pleasure." I give an over-exaggerated bow before tugging on the cloak and getting the door, heading out into the hallways and towards the Gryffindor Common Room, fully intent on going to sleep for the night.

And then, just as I was outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, I hear the scream.

I jump and pick up my pace before remembering the portrait. I glance at the Fat Lady. "I need to get in."

"Not without the password!" she protests, the goblet of what I assumed was wine sloshing around in her hand.

I sigh and bite my lip before coming up with a new idea - changing my tactic. I slump my shoulders forwards, bow my head slightly, jut my lip out, and give her my best puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"

Her gaze softens a little, but she still shakes her head and denies me access.

I give a frustrated huff and straighten up, crossing my arms as I devise another plan of action.

And then there's another scream: "ORISSA!"

I hiss and quickly decide to step forward and draw my shoulders back and tilt my chin up, letting anger - an anger I hadn't felt since Vernon Dursley banished me to the streets - take over. "Let. Me. In. _Now_."

The Fat Lady must've seen something in my eyes, because the blood drains from her face and she nods quickly. "Yes...yes, of course…"

I ignore her as I vault through the portrait hole, feeling slightly bad about bullying her but deciding I'll address that after I find out why people are screaming and how I'm involved.

"Orissa!" Ron shouts again from where he's pacing around the room. "Why was - your father - he-"

I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. "If you're just going to rant about his sanity or his 'crimes', Ron, then-"

"He broke in to the dorms!" Ron cuts me off, and my eyes widen almost comically had it not been this situation. "He broke into the dorms and he was standing over me with a knife! A _knife_ , Orissa! And – he – you-"

I make a split second decision, crossing the room and grabbing firmly onto Ron's arms, steering him to the nearest armchair and sinking to one knee in front of him. "Ronald Weasley, look at me. Calm down. Breath in…out…you with me?"

The redhead in front of me nods mutely, and I break eye contact briefly to give him a once-over. "Are you okay? Did…did _he_ hurt you?"

Ron shakes his head, giving me a sorrowful look. "I'm sorry, 'Rissa."

I swallow thickly, closing my eyes to cover the tears forming there. "I know."

"I'm sorry to interrupt this _touching_ moment," a voice interrupts, and I look up to see Fay Dunbar, a normally quiet girl in the dormitory, looking at me like I'm something that deserves to be scraped off her shoes. "But I'd really like to know how Daddy Dearest got in here. Wouldn't you, _Black_?" Her voice is innocent, but the way she spits my last name suggests differently.

"I would," Lavender agrees. "I wonder if he had any help."

I hiss out a breath and pat Ron on the knee as I slowly stand and turn to face the girls. "I don't know what you're implying, but I had no idea this was happening before it did."

"And now you're covering for him!" Lavender shrieks. "Do our friendships mean nothing to you?"

I rear back and open my mouth to retort, but I'm distracted by more movement by the portrait hole.

It's Professor McGonagall. "Miss Black, the headmaster would like to see you, if you'll come with me."

I nod resignedly and walk over to join her, a chorus of 'oooh's following me until the professor nudges me through the portrait hole. "Professor," I plead as I follow her down the hallway, "I didn't do anything! I swear I've never even met Sirius Black – well, I mean, I have, obviously, but I can't remember, so-"

"Miss Black." My Head of House gives me a look that is somehow gentle and stern all at the same time. "You are not being accused of anything. This is not a trial, my girl."

I just stutter out a shocked repetition of "I didn't _do_ anything," before hanging my head and trudging after her.

Once we reach the gargoyle and recite the correct password – "Peppery Imps," – I take a deep breath as McGonagall raps on the wooden door before shoving it open and leading me to a seat and sitting off to the side.

I shift slightly uncomfortably. "Good…good evening, Headmaster."

He gives me a sad little smile. "It was, Miss Black, that it was. Have you been told the situation already?"

I shrug. "I dunno…just that my – _Sirius_ – somehow got into the boy's dorm and was holding a knife over one of my best friends, and now everyone's blaming me."

Dumbledore nods pensively. "Would it do you any good, my dear, to know that, under extreme stress, people have a higher chance of choosing the obvious?"

"And I'm the obvious," I muse sadly. "But, professor, these kids, the people here," I wave a hand around the office, motioning to the castle in general, "have known me for three years. Don't they know that I wouldn't do this?"

"Miss Black." I shift my eyes to McGonagall as she speaks. "Please keep in mind that they may also be feeling a little betrayed by the fact that you never who you said you were. Some of them may feel lied to."

"But I wasn't lying!" I insist. "I really thought I was Allison Potter! I had never heard of Orissa Black – the first time I even heard of _Sirius_ Black was on the Knight Bus, on Harry's birthday!"

"But they don't realize that, do they?" Dumbledore asks; it's a completely rhetorical question, but I shake my head anyways. "The students are of the opinion that you knew and kept it from them purposefully."

"I know…" I shake my head again. "But I wouldn't – I would never-!"

Dumbledore nods, suddenly seeming very old. "I know, my dear, I know. However…"

I bite my lip. _That doesn't sound good._

"…I have been warned of something by the Minister of Magic."

"And…what would that be, sir?" I ask slowly, praying that I'll like the answer even when I know I more than likely will not.

"He warned me of your family's very great, very powerful, and – under the correct circumstances – very _dangerous_ magic. He then requested that I take action."

I left out a shaky breath. "A-Action, s-sir?"

He nods, his face gaining a few new creases as he does so. "Yes, my dear girl, and I apologize, but I had to concede."

Shock briefly blankets the fear that had raged in my mind. "But…why?!" I sputter. "Sir, you're _Dumbledore_! You could _be_ Minister of Magic if you wanted, why didn't you…why not…why didn't…"

He gives me a soft grin as I trail off. "Thank you, Miss Black. While I am flattered by your faith in me, it would do you good to remember that even I, as powerful as I am, am only human and can be arrested. And no-one wants that, do they?"

I shake my head resignedly. "So…what are you going to do?"

He flicks his wand and an object lands on the desk between us; a thick metal cuff not unlike those I saw Muggle convicts wearing on TV. Except for this one was glowing bright green.

I give it a suspicious, narrowed-eyed gaze as Dumbledore replies. "I'm afraid you will be required to wear this around your right ankle."

I glance between Dumbledore, the cuff, and McGonagall disbelievingly. "Seriously?"

McGonagall nods. "Quite serious, Miss Black. We would not joke about this."

I look at the cuff again. "And…what if I don't?"

"You will most likely be arrested and sent to Azkaban," Dumbledore tells me bluntly.

I frown. "Oh."

Dumbledore sighs. "The rules of the cuff are as follows: you have free reign in the Common Room, dormitories, Great Hall, and in and in between all of your classrooms, and every girls' bathroom in Hogwarts-"

I almost sag with relief. _My potion was safe_.

"-but you are only allowed out on the grounds for one hour each day for you Care of Magical Creatures class. You are not permitted to use any spell more powerful than a Stinging Hex, and any use of powerful or dark spells will result in immediate Ministry presence at the school and your consequences will be put in effect."

I nod without a word, more despair pooling in my stomach with every word.

"Any resistance against these terms will result in your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a life sentence in Azkaban Wizarding Prison. Any questions?"

I slowly lift my eyes to meet his, which were, for once, devoid of all twinkle. "Can I speak freely for a moment, sir?"

"I have gone temporarily deaf, my dear, and cannot hear a word you say."

I glance quickly at Professor McGonagall, who nods in affirmation, before tearing out of the chair and pacing the width of the office briskly.

"That inbred, mouth-breathing, smarmy, knuckle-dragging son of a half-breed troll! HE deserves to rot with the darkest corners of society."

"If you're finished, Miss Black?"

I glance around to see both Professors watching me with amused eyes, trying to hold back laughs. "Ah, right. Uh, thanks for that, sir."

He nods pleasantly, despite the circumstances. "It was needed. Now, given that there is no sense in delaying the inevitable, shall we?"

I close my eyes briefly as I nod, sticking my ankle out and letting the headmaster levitate the cuff onto it and securing the cuff with a swish of his wand and an incantation of _"Magicae vestigium."_

There's a slight hum as it closes, and I'm a bit disconcerted to find that it fits perfectly and it looks to be made of one piece of metal, with no ordinary locks or anything.

Dumbledore produces a piece of parchment and a quill, explaining that it was a contract before signing, having Professor McGonagall sign as a witness to the event, and then passing me the quill.

I sign my name with a flourish, wincing as the skin on the back of my hand prickles but dismissing it as an itch.

The parchment glows brightly for a moment before disappearing with a 'poof!' leaving only Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and myself with my new _accessory_.

"Well then," Professor McGonagall stands, brushing off her robes. "All of the students have been evacuated to the Great Hall for the night, shall we join them?"

I nod, standing and walking over to her side, not looking back as she nudges me out of the office.

Upon our arrival to the Great Hall, I find that it looks a bit like a disaster relief center I saw on TV once; sleeping bags covering almost every inch of the floor, the tables nowhere to be found.

McGonagall leads me over to a corner of the Hall, where my friends are waiting, and bids us goodnight before leaving.

"Ori!" Harry jumps up to greet me almost immediately. "Are you okay? What did Dumbledore want?"

I shake my head as I slip into my sleeping bag. "Tell you in the morning."

"Ori-" Ron tries.

"No. Drop it."

The boys share a glance but concede, laying down into their own sleeping bags and falling silent.

* * *

About an hour later, I still can't sleep, mainly because I was too busy tossing and turning, keeping my more dangerous thoughts away and I was only too aware of the cold weight on my ankle.

I pause as I hear movement directly to my left. "Hermione, are you still awake?"

"Mm, yeah," she grunts, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "Can't sleep…you?"

I give a derive snort. "Me? Sleeping? Tonight? Yeah, bloody likely."

She gives me a small 'what can you do' smile. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," I shrug. "Hey…can I ask you a question?"

She rolls onto her back, propping an elbow up to look at me. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

"Are…" I pause, lowering my voice. "Are you parents proud of you?"

"I…yeah," she blinks. "Yeah, if their letters are anything to go by. Why…oh. Is this about-"

I nod. "Do…you think he'd be proud of me?"

"Yes," she nods with absolute certainty, and I give her a dubious look. "Really!" she insists. "You're tough as nails, smart, pretty, ambitious…there's a lot to be proud of."

"I know," I sigh. "It's just…"

"I know…would you want anything else?"

I study the ground for a moment, glancing at the ankle cuff as I consider this.

I could wish to really be Allison Potter, thus avoiding this newest mess, but then I'd have no parents at all instead of one, and instead of just whispers I'd be plagued by the nightmares I _know_ Harry gets. I mean sure, I wouldn't be accused of lying for three years, but…something would always be off unless I was living _here_ and _now_.

"No," I decide finally. "No. I'm content here."

That doesn't stop the tears from coming later that night, though.

I'm beginning to hate Halloween.


	19. Chapter 19

_Dear Fred and George/George and Fred/Forge and Gred/Gred and Forge –_

 _First off, if you believe that I'm evil and a traitor to this school, read no further and feel free to dispose of this letter as you wish._

 _If you're still reading this, thank you for believing. And sorry about that. Had to cover all my bases._

 _Secondly, I need to utilize your skills in sneaking stuff past contraband. I need some potion ingredients I don't think Snape has (and even if he did, can you blame for not wanting to check?). I promise what I'm making isn't illegal…it's more than thin, fuzzy, grey line between 'legal' and 'not legal'._

 _You know the line I'm talking about._

 _So anyways, now that we've cleared up that you guys won't become accessories to murder or something like that if you help, how about it? I'd get them myself, but I can't exactly leave the castle, not after Halloween (it's a long story – one that I don't want to relay by letter)_

 _In return, I'll help you guy with one – and only_ _one_ _– prank. I've been told I have a knack for that sort of thing, but I already have enough trouble as is and I need teachers breathing down my neck like I need a hole in the head._

 _I've attached a list of the ingredients I need in the envelope._

 _Thanks for the help,_

 _Orissa_ – here I pause and take a deep, steadying breath and it occurs to me (not for the first time) that _oh god it shouldn't be so hard to write my own last name_ –

 _Orissa Black._

I dot the last sentence of the letter with a final jab of the quill and hold it between my teeth as I slip both the letter and the list of ingredients into and envelope and motion for Hedwig to stick her leg out, absently wondering if Harry was going to be mad that I was commandeering his owl.

"Good girl," I praise, stroking her feathers and giving her an owl treat for her troubles before she takes off into the late afternoon light.

It was early November now, about a week and a half since Halloween.

Which meant it's been a week and a half of people essentially shunning me. Well, people minus Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and hopefully the twins. Even the Quidditch team was divided – nobody was sure where they stood.

The ankle cuff had also been on for a week and a half. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had been horrified when they found out – "This is really messed up! Bloody hell…" "A blatant disregard for your freedom!" "How do they get away with this?" – but I had literally begged them not to make a fuss because I had taken a low profile around school ( _yeah, because what traitor_ draws _attention to themselves?_ ); I didn't really raise my hand in most of my classes except Defense, I had stopped talking back to Snape like was customary for me, I had avoided Malfoy, and I stayed quiet at Quidditch practices.

That being said, I didn't completely disappear into the shadows. I walked the hallways with my head held high, still laughed and joked at meals, and ignored the whispers like I had been doing since my birthday. I wasn't going to let my father and the Ministry win completely.

I congratulate myself with a small grin and then shake my head, feeling like an idiot for standing in the middle of the owlrey grinning at nothing. I turn to head for the stairs, watching my step among the shavings and droppings that covered the floor.

After I reach the main castle, I search out the nearest clock to find that it's nearly 10 o'clock and I had ten minutes to be where I needed to be right now – the DADA classroom.

It was a Saturday, and normally on Saturdays I avoided classrooms like the plague, but today I was excited. Today was the day we – Harry and I – were learning how to 'fight' Dementors.

 _Plus_ , my conscience reminds me, _you get to spend most of your day with people that don't think you're a traitor._

I was going to become really bitter if I continued thinking like this.

I shake my head and sprint around the last corner, skidding to a stop in front of the Defense classroom and rapping my knuckles on the door.

"Come in."

I nudge the door open and slip inside, seeing that Professor Lupin was at his desk and Harry was already here. "Did I miss anything?"

Harry shakes his head, absently fingering his wand. "No, I got here right before you did."

"And now that you're both here, we can begin." I sit next to Harry as we both turn our attention to the professor, who's standing by a locked chest. "Harry, for your practice I figured it best that we use a boggart instead of a real Dementor, mainly because a boggart can't suck out your soul and leave you in a vegetative state."

I laugh as I raise my hand. "Sir? What am I doing?"

"Oh…right," he blinks. "We never got to test your boggart. Do you know what it would be?"

I tilt my head back as I consider this before looking back at Lupin and replying, "My father, like he is on the wanted posters."

Lupin studies me for a second before nodding. "Well, that won't work for this…ah! One moment." He waves his wand intricately for a moment, muttering something under his breath and giving the wand a final jab as what looked like a Dementor appears out of thin air.

My hands go for my wand and I almost get a yelp out before I realize that it's not moving, and real Dementors bob in mid-air slightly, almost like they were breathing. I relax and step in closer, noticing the pedestal under the tattered black robes. "It's a dummy?"

Lupin nods. "Yep, just a dummy. Once I say the activation spell, though, it'll move just like the real ones."

I nod and return to my seat as Lupin nudges the dummy back a few inches and addresses Harry and I. "The charm I'm about to teach you is N.E.W.T. level magic, and I do not, by any means, expect you to master it on your first try. If you don't, don't worry, you can keep trying for as long as necessary."

I raise my hand tentatively, and he nods at me. "Orissa?"

"Sir, with all due respect, we _need_ to get this, and fast. My soul's almost been sucked out two times the last two months. One Dementor attack per month is not a record I like."

Lupin hesitates slightly before replying, "I understand that, Orissa, but there is almost always a teacher around, and all the Professors here know the Patronus Charm."

"Except Hagrid," I remind him cheekily.

"Except Hagrid," he agrees exasperatedly, and I grin triumphantly. "Now, Harry, you first. The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_ , and in order to cast it you need to think of a happy memory. What's the memory you're using?"

Harry gets a far-off look in his eye as he digs through his head. "Uh…the first time I rode a broom?"

Lupin nods. "It should work. Alright, Orissa, stand back. Harry, wand out. Ready? On my mark…three…two…one…"

I take a few big steps back as Lupin unlocks the chest and the Dementor forms almost immediately, Harry raising his wand and moving it in a circle, like we were shown. " _Expecto Patronum!"_

Nothing happens. The boggart-Dementor moves closer, and I can see the candlelight in the room reflecting off the sight sheen forming on Harry's skin as he tries again. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Still nothing. My hand closes around my wand, ready to either cast _Riddikulus_ or distract the boggart off Harry.

" _Expecto…"_ I watch Harry's wand falter. _"Exp…exp-pec…"_

His knees finally give out, sending him to the floor as Lupin and I whip our wands out, Lupin beating me to the punch with a sharp " _Riddikulus!_ ". The boggart temporarily turns to the same milky white orb it had been in class before falling and morphing into a cockroach.

I'm moving almost instantly, grabbing the Chocolate Frog Lupin offers and crouching by Harry's head, nudging his shoulder gently. "Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

He groans and blinks up at me blearily. "Ori? What happened?"

I hand him the chocolate and help him sit up. "Dementors happened," I tell him simply, reaching up to fix his glasses. "Are you you're okay? Those are nasty creatures."

He nods. "I'm sure." He makes a shooing motion with one hand. "I bet you can't do better."

I smirk deviously as I stand up. "Watch me."

"Ready for round two?" Lupin asks after he's re-lit all the candles, and I take a deep breath and nod.

The professor moves the dummy into position, readying his wand as I do the same. "Ready?"

I nod and prepare the memory of getting my Hogwarts' letter, finally leaving the Dursley's, if only for a few months…

"Three…two…one… _initium!_ "

Suddenly the dummy doesn't look much like a dummy anymore; it's moving and swaying like a real Dementor would and it's getting closer…

I swish my wand. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

And my try results in a little more than Harry's, but not by much: just some silvery smoke. But it's progress.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

It moves closer…

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

 _Everything's going fuzzy…_

" _Expect...expe-ecto-o…._ "

And the voices start.

" _Padfoot…"_

" _James?"_

" _Peter!"_

" _NO!"_

" _Prohibere!"_ That's Lupin, a real voice, and the panic flows out of my body like a river, letting me fall to my knees.

I fight to regulate my breathing as my vision returns to normal. "Orissa?"

I look up at Professor Lupin, who was offering me chocolate with one hand and assistance with the other. I accept both, munching on the chocolate as I get up to take a seat on the two-step little platform in his office. "What went wrong?"

"The same thing that happened with Harry," he explains. "You both have the wand work and incantation right, but there must not be enough power beyond the spell. Orissa, what memory did you use?"

"When I got my Hogwarts letter. I was really happy, so I don't understand why it didn't work." I chew on my lip contemplatively.

"It may be because it wasn't _your_ memory, per se." I give the professor an odd look, and quickly continues with, "Well, it was, but it wasn't at the same time. You were Allison Potter at the time, so if Allison did really exist, she could use that memory to fuel a Patronus."

"You make it sound like I've got multiple personalities or something," I groan. "I mean, really, sir, I know my personality's big but it doesn't need to overflow into other beings."

Lupin shakes his head and tries for a stern look, but I can see the grin that's threatening to break out on his face. "I swear the Blacks are going to be the death of me."

I shrug. "Nah, I like you too much. You're the best DADA teacher I've had. Hey Harry, do you know why your memory didn't work?"

He shakes his head sadly. "Maybe I wasn't happy enough?"

I think back a few years to the day Harry was using and nod after a minute. "I was more nervous than scared, really. And then terrified when you took that dive. You're going to give me a heart attack on of these days."

Harry rolls his eyes dramatically. "You're right behind me 99% of the time, so if anyone will die of a heart attack, it'll probably be Hermione. And if I can't use that memory, what can I use?"

I tilt my head back and study the ceiling for a moment. "Maybe it doesn't have to be a memory."

Harry turns to stare at me, giving me the familiar look that says he thinks I'm out of my mind. "Did you not hear Professor Lupin when he said it _had to be a memory_?"

"Well, memory is a very vague term." I argue. "Maybe it would works better as just a thought."

"Like a false memory?" He squints at me and tips his head to the side. "Wouldn't that be cheating?"

I shrug. "Not really. When, do you think, were you happiest? In your entire life."

His eyes glaze over slightly. "Probably when I was a baby. When my mum and dad were alive."

I tilt my head slightly to share a glance with Lupin, whose eyes looked suspiciously misty, over Harry's head before reaching over to pat Harry's hand. "So if that was when you were happiest, then why don't you recreate that? Imagine what it must have been like, and then hold onto that thought while you cast the Patronus."

He worries his lip between his teeth for a moment before nodding carefully. "I suppose I don't have any other options…"

I pat him on the shoulder as i stand and straighten my robes. "It'll work. You'll thank me later." I glance at Lupin, who had watched that whole conversation, standing quietly off to the side. "Professor? I think we're ready again."

He nods. "Alright, but if you don't get it this time, that'll be all for today."

I open my mouth to protest, but Lupin gives me a stern look that books no room for argument. "No, Orissa. You've already drained your magic and all you did was make a little smoke."

I can't help but whine a little as I plop bonelessly into a nearby chair. "Fine. Harry goes first."

Harry nods and stands, wiping his hands on his pants. "Right. I'm ready, I can do this."

"Sure you can," I nod as Lupin positions the trunk.

"Ready?" Harry nods. "Three...two...one…"

The Dementor is there again, but this time Harry has a little more determination in his eyes. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Just a little smoke. Better than he did before, but still nowhere near a Patronus. (At least I thought, I had never seen one before.)

Harry's back goes straight and determination floods his eyes as he raises his wand again. " _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

A bright, silver light bursts from his wand, and I squint in the sudden brightness. The boggart-Dementor is forced back and, with the help of Professor Lupin, into the locked chest.

"Well done, Harry!" Lupin praises, helping Harry into a chair and handing him more chocolate while I went around flicking my wand at the candles to relight them.

"Was that it? Was that a Patronus?" I ask curiously as I pocket my wand and walk back over to the pair. "Because I thought it'd be more…" I wave a hand vaguely. "Um, showy?"

"It usually is," Lupin agrees. "A fully produced Patronus looks like a spirit, usually an animal."

"What animal?" Harry asks, and my head fills with visions of fierce beasts; lions, tigers, elephants, horses… _flobberworms._

I choke back a laugh and tune back in to the end of the professor's sentence. "…individual. I knew a man that had a stag, another one that had a dog, and then one was a rat. I also know a cat and a weasel, so there's no telling what yours will be."

"Well," I grab my wand and stand up, "there's no time for discovery like the present." I pause. "Or at least, I think that's how the saying goes. Muggles are confusing, but whatever. Come _on_!" I give a little hop and wag my wand back and forth.

"Alright, calm down." Lupin positions the dummy again. "Ready?"

I nod eagerly. "Let's go!"

He just shakes his head before swishing his wand and muttering the activation spell.

I'm ready within seconds, staring the Dementor down before taking a deep breath and going through the wand motion. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

A fair amount of silver smoke comes out of my wand, but it's not like Harry's. _Yet,_ I remind myself, _not_ _ **yet.**_

I take another deep breath and concentrate on the day I made the Quidditch team. It was my memory and my memory alone, and it wasn't even remotely associated with anything dark.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " I recite forcefully, grinning madly as a silver light erupts from my wand. It didn't have a definite shape, but if I squinted hard enough I could see a fuzzy outline of…something.

The dummy stops with the deactivation spell and I grin even as i fall to one knee. "I...did it."

Professor Lupin is grinning too as he helps me into a seat. "Nice work! You both did well today."

"And we can't go just _one_ more time?" I ask hopefully around the chocolate in my mouth.

Lupin shakes his head. "We've been over this. No."

"Please? I'm not tired!" I insist stubbornly.

"But your magic is," he points out. "No."

"But-"

"No."

" _But_ -"

"I said no!" the professor cries exasperatedly. "Do I need to say it in another language?"

I open my mouth to protest, but close it again as his last words sink in. I tilt my head curiously. "Do you _know_ it in another language?"

The professor blinks and the sudden diversion. "Um…Latin."

"And?"

"It's still no. Harry, will you please help Orissa out?"

Harry nods, and I glare at my bespectacled friend as he grabs my arm and drags me, quite literally, out of the classroom.

Once we're a fair distance away, I yank my arm out of his grip and continue to glare at him as I brush off my robes.

"What?" Harry asks innocently. "I was doing as I was told."

I harrumph and turn to go the other way down the hall.

"Enjoy your Saturday!" he calls cheekily after me.

"Oh, shut it, you."


	20. Chapter 20

**Just a quick note: I don't anything but Orissa – wish I did, but, alas, I do not.**

 **Also, you'll have to excuse the faulty Quidditch Cup schedule in the beginning, I don't know if the timing's quite right.**

* * *

"Are you sure they won't let you?"

"I'm _sure_ , Harry," I sigh and look up from a copy of _Which Broomstick_ I was borrowing from Wood. "It was part of the conditions of _that_ -" I eye my green ankle cuff with extreme distaste – "that said I couldn't leave the castle expect for Hagrid's lessons. Unless you want me carted off to Azkaban, of course."

Harry groans and tries – and fails – once again to give me his best puppy eyes. I had to admit that before Halloween, they would have worked, but no facial expression (no matter how endearing) was worth my arrest.

I shake my head again. "Sorry, Harry, but no. I wish I could, though. And, hey, while you're out can you stop at Zonko's for me? I promised the twin's I'd help them with something, and I need to stock up."

Ron looks slightly horrified by my last sentence. "You, Fred, and George are teaming up? Seriously? Oh, we're all doomed."

I roll my eyes at him and make shooing motions. "If you say so, Ron. Now _go_. Have fun. Oh, and don't get caught."

Harry rolls his eyes at me before he and Ron leave the room, already chattering about the shops in the village, leaving Hermione lagging slightly behind, still watching me with concern. "Are you sure?"

"About what?" I ask sarcastically. "The part about not wanting to be in Azkaban? Yeah."

"But I feel bad…"

"Hermione," I cut her off, "I'll be fine. There's some stuff I wanted to get done anyways."

"Okay," she relents. "That's probably best."

"Now you're seeing it my way," I grin. "And…watch those two, alright? They need a sensible friend. No extravagant purchases, don't let Harry blow the bank, etcetera. Keep an eye on them."

"Always. And you don't do anything stupid, either."

"Deal." I reach out to shake her hand in a mock-businesslike manner.

She leaves after that, and I settle back into the armchair and refocus on an article about the Twigger 90.

About half an hour later I close the magazine, still frustrated by the fact that the only decent broom in there was the Nimbus 2001, which I wouldn't fly in a million years. Luckily the next match that I was playing in wasn't until February, when we went up against Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff was playing Ravenclaw in the next week or so, then we played the winner of that match after the winter holidays, Hufflepuff played the loser of that match in April, and we played against the winner of the April match for the finals in May.

 _Maybe I'll get lucky and get one for Christmas_ , I mentally reason as I climb the stairs to the dorm. _But it's not like I've got people to give it to me, now do I?_

I'm broken out of my thoughts by a curious meow, and I look down to see Crookshanks staring at me as I step into the dorm. I give the ginger tabby a quick pat before busying myself with cleaning around my bed, flicking my wand at my bed sheets and muttering a quick " _Scourgify."_ I then proceed to clean underneath my bed, making sure nobody was around before pulling out the box that I was using for my Animagus potion – which was coming along brilliantly – and setting it on top of my bed. Fred and George had sent the ingredients the previous weekend (I didn't know, nor did I ever _want_ to know, where they got the pus), but I had yet to add them to the potion.

I cast a final cleaning charm on the floor beneath my bed before moving onto my trunk, my old trunk with the A.L.P still hauntingly carved into the top. I hadn't had time to get a new one; I supposed I would get one either this summer or with my supplies for next year. With the proper initials, of course.

I dig through it, creating one pile of textbooks, another for clothes, one for things I didn't want to keep anymore, and a third for everything else.

My fingers close around the Marauder's Map and I pull it out, fully intending to set it off to the side, but something makes me pause. I stare at the blank parchment, the sight of the map ringing a faint bell.

Purely on impulse I reach around for my wand, grabbing it a softly muttering "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,", watching the map comes to life with the seal of the Marauders and then the words: _Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot-_

Padfoot.

I freeze, staring at the map but not seeing the lines unfold. Padfoot, Prongs, and Moony were all names that showed up in my Dementor-induced hallucinations. That, and a guy named Peter and someone else named Padslet, but I didn't know who they were and they weren't on the map.

Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs were quite obviously nicknames of some sort, but I didn't know who they really were and I had no way of figuring it out. Hermione might, but she was busy at the moment and, besides, a Dementor revealed a person's worst memories, and I wasn't ready to tell Hermione mine.

I sigh and shove myself off the floor, grabbing the map and walking over to the small, one-drawer nightstand that was by my bed, flicking my wand and whispering " _Alohomora._ "

There's a click as the lock on the drawer disengages and I pull it open, revealing it's sparse contents: a portrait of my father, circa 1978, which featured him laughing at something off camera, and the letter he gave to me to explain who I really was. I set the map in and shut the drawer again, sealing it with the locking charm – " _Colloportus_."

Once I'm sure the drawer is sealed, I return to my trunk, tossing everything I didn't want into a trash bin, and stacking my books and clothes back in my trunk and locking it using the same spell I had on the drawer. I wasn't usually this paranoid, but roughly sixty percent of my dorm mates thought I had betrayed them for my father. I wasn't going to run the risk of my stuff getting destroyed.

With that, I curl up on my bed, grabbing my Charms textbook and the essay I had yet to finish.

 _If I wasn't going to have fun,_ I reason, _then I might as well be productive._

* * *

I blink and shift as I hear voices echoing softly below me, casting a quick Tempus Charm to show that it was 4:47 in the afternoon. It was probably just some kids returning from Hogsmeade.

I rub a hand over my eyes, the words on the page blurring beneath me. It had been about five hours since Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left, and they hadn't been back yet, so I figured all was going smoothly.

Suddenly there's a loud bang downstairs and I jump, grabbing my wand and bolting out the door and down the stairs, bursting into the Common Room hyped and adrenaline-filled…

…only to find Hermione and Ron – just the two of them – staring at me with bewildered expressions.

"Oh." I blink and put my wand back into my pocket. "What was that noise?"

"The bang was Harry slamming the door to the boys' dorms," Hermione explains uneasily, shuffling her feet.

I glance up the stairs and then back at them. "What has him so worked up?" Internally, I was growing increasingly worried; Harry doesn't throw a fit unless it's something big, like betrayal, petrification, or the fate of the world being too heavy for his shoulders.

"Erm...well..we…"

"Hermione, spit it out!"

"Okay. When we were in Hogsmeade, we...overheard...some teachers talking about, um, how Harry's father knew yours, and it turns out that Black is actually Harry's godfather...and then Harry ran."

I turn and kick an armchair. _Hasn't my_ dear _father caused enough trouble?_ "And one of you isn't up there with him because…?"

"He might bite our heads off," Ron shrugs. "Plus, the maniac is _your_ father."

I bristle at the slightly accusatory tone coloring his voice, but Hermione quickly steps between us before anyone can speak. "Ron just means that you might have a better grip on the situation. Come on, Orissa, _please_?"

I exhale slowly and rub the bridge of my nose, glaring at Ron over Hermione's shoulder. "Fine, I'll do it. For Harry. I'm not cleaning up Black's messes."

I turn and walk tensely up the stairs until I appear in front of the third year boys' dorm. I raise a hand to knock on the door, stuffing my other hand into my pocket.

"Go _away_ ," is the only reply I get.

"That's not possible right now," I sigh. "Harry, please let me in."

I can hear him sigh loudly before there's a click and the door swings open to reveal Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

I perch on the bed next to him, not touching him because physical contact might speed up the eruption that's-

"HE WAS THEIR BEST FRIEND!"

I sigh and close my eyes, unable to look at Harry. "I know."

"No! No, you don't! Black and my dad were inseparable, like brothers, they said. He was the best man at their wedding! He was my _godfather_! THEY _TRUSTED_ HIM, AND HE BETRAYED THEM!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to ten. "Harry, where did you hear this?"

"I overheard some Professors in the Three Broomsticks," he whispers. "He was their Secret-Keeper."

"Huh?"

"It has to do with something called the Fidelius Charm," he tells me. "Basically my mum and dad were hiding in a location, and the spell put the secret of the location into Black's head and only his head. The only way anyone could find them was through him, but Black just spilled to Voldemort and bam! My parents were dead, Peter Pettigrew – who was also their friend – was dead, and thirteen Muggles were dead. And – and do want to know what he did, Orissa?" Harry looks me in the eyes, his eyes a strange mixture of devastated and irate. "Do you want to know what your _father_ did next?"

I tuck my hands under my legs to stop them shaking and shrug with fake nonchalance.

"He _laughed_." Harry tips his head towards the ceiling. "The bloody traitor just stood there and laughed his murdering head off."

I sigh and look over at Harry. "What do you want me to _do_ here, Harry?"

"I…don't know." His head falls back down into his hands. "It's just – your father – and my mum and dad – and we're-"

"We're…what?"

"I was raised as your brother – your _twin_ brother, no less – for _thirteen years._ You were my one constant, you know that? I always thought that 'hey, even if everyone else hates me, Ally's always going to be there, so it'll be okay.' And then we get to school and – surprise! – we aren't even related! And we never have been! Your name wasn't even Allison. And now your _real_ father's alive and insane, don't try and deny that, and he was the reason behind _my_ parents' deaths! HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry's voice climbed with every sentence until, at the end, his voice was echoing painfully off the walls.

"Harry, I'll ask you again: _what do want me to do_? This was more than a decade ago. Does it take away from the fact that, yes, James and Lily are dead? No. Does it take away from the fact that I _hate_ my father sometimes for what he's done? No. But what can I do about any of it? Because, contrary to popular belief, I don't know where Sirius Black is. I've never even met the man, besides the fifteen months I can't remember. I don't like what he did, regardless of how defensive I get."

"But-"

"Did you know he didn't get a trial, Harry?"

"He didn't need one!" Harry protests hotly. "He killed my parents! And Pettigrew! And then-"

"I heard you the first time, Harry." I run a hand through my hair. "But everyone deserves a chance to tell their story."

"He was mad!"

"So you've heard," I challenge. "Neither of us has met him."

"If you did…" Harry pauses and takes a deep breath. "If you did meet Sirius Black, with your wand, and had the opportunity to…end him, would you?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Would you?"

"Yes," he answers without hesitation, and I'm shocked by the slightly homicidal determination in his eyes. "You didn't answer my question."

I stiffly stand and move towards the door, placing my hand on the doorknob before I turn to face Harry, shaking my head sadly.

"Don't ask me to take shots at my own flesh and blood, Harry, just because you'd like to do the same."

* * *

 **Well…that was tense.**

 **Just wanted to take this moment to thank my 14 reviewers and practically beg the rest of you to REVIEW! PLEASE!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Please Read the A/N at the bottom! It's really IMPORTANT!**

* * *

The discovery that Sirius Black was Harry's godfather (which technically made Harry my god-brother) did not help our relationship. The deterioration might have something more to do with the fact that my father was charged with Lily and James' murders, or at least their betrayals, but whatever the case was, Harry and I were barely speaking and when we did it was clipped and overly formal.

I wasn't going to lie and say that my father didn't do a single thing, but I'm still not sure what exactly happened the night of October 31st, 1981; the only people that really did were Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and Voldemort – one of those people was dead, the other a supposed murderer, and the last was _Voldemort._ I wasn't going to stand there and ask him what happened.

" _Hey, Voldie, before you kill me, can you please explain what happened the night you murdered my best friend's parents, leaving him an orphan and essentially committing suicide in the process?"_

 _Yeah, right,_ I snort. _That's bloody likely._

The disagreement of Sirius Black vs. James/Lily Potter had nearly spilt my usual quartet in half, with Ron firmly set in his belief that my father was a psychopathic murder that tried to kill him and Harry seeking revenge for his parents while Hermione was on my side – once I explained the logic of "you don't blow up and leave a single, pretty much bloodless finger behind. It just doesn't happen!" Hermione and I were avoiding the boys and, ergo, the Common Room, which was where they had set up a 'base', if you will. We had holed ourselves into the library, spending much more time in there than I thought was healthy while Hermione looked up more for Buckbeak's case and I did some discreet research on Animagi.

My potion was about half-way finished, and I figured I could have it finished and take it over winter break, so nobody would be suspicious. (Well, besides Harry, but I learned how to hide things from him years ago.)

"Rissa!"

I glance over at Hermione, who was staring at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Yeah?"

"It's eight forty-five. We have Divination in fifteen minutes!"

I look over at the same clock and freeze for a moment before there's a flurry of activity, books slamming closed and being hefted into bags before we take off, waving to Madam Pince as we pass.

It takes about fifteen minutes to reach the Divination classroom, and, to our surprise, the ladder's still down.

"The Inner Eye probably told her we'd be late," I smirk wryly.

Hermione just shrugs and grabs the ladder. "Or one of our friends."

I snort and give her a derisive look.

The inside of the classroom's still as stuffy as it's always been, and I'm already feeling foggy as Hermione and I sit down, blatantly avoiding Ron and Harry.

"Good morning, my darlings," Trelawney's watery voice greets us. "Today we will be starting palmistry, a type of Seeing that needs close contact with the people around you…"

I groan and proceed to tune out the rest of her rambling until Hermione kicks me under the table.

"Miss Black," Trelawney is saying, "you'll be paired with Mr. Potter…"

I groan again, a little louder this time, and Hermione gives me a sorrowful look as Ron and I gather our things to switch places. "Wish me luck," I sigh dramatically, throwing a hand across my forehead in a fake swoon.

This gains a small laugh from Hermione. "Ditto."

I trudge my way to where Harry was sitting, plopping unceremoniously in the chair opposite him. "Harry."

"Orissa." His voice is tense and stiff but slightly unsure, and I mentally wince at the absence of nicknames – no 'Ori' or 'Rissa'. Heck, I'd even take _Rissy_ ; I'd probably hit him afterwards, but I'd take it.

"Harry." I bite my lip. "Okay…look. I'm not happy about this either, but will you _please_ just give me your hand so we can get this done?"

He fixes me with an unreadable expression for another, heavily silent, moment before thrusting his hand across the table.

I sigh and grab it, turning it over so the palm is up. Using my free hand to find the correct page in the textbook, I scan down the different diagrams to find the one that matches his. "Okay…apparently this wrinkle, right here, means you're going to find some troubling news-"

"Like a murderer being my godfather?"

I close my eyes and count to ten. _Don't react…_

Once I'm controlled enough, I continue browsing the page. "This rough patch here means you're going to encounter great hardships in reaching your goals – maybe Slytherin actually puts up a good game this year?"

He rolls his eyes and harrumphs impatiently at me.

"Okay, okay, fine, not the time for a joke," I grumble under my breath, then continue in a normal tone, "This crease means you will discover what's been hidden…"

"Like how I'm an only child?"

I close my eyes again. _Don't react…he's baiting you…_

And then I open them again, plowing over Harry's last remark. "This one's your lifeline – and yours is _really_ short, sorry."

"I have a mass-murderer after me, remember? Sirius _Black_?"

 _Don't react, don't react, don't do it…_

"And this last crease right, the deeper one, means you'll be in grave danger-"

"Because of _your father_ …"

 _Don't react, don't react, don't do it don't do it do not do it..._

 _Screw this, doing it._

I jerk Harry's hand forward roughly and give it a sharp twist, the crack echoing throughout the room.

" _Ow_!" Harry hisses in pain, cradling his wrist to his chest. "I think you broke my wrist!"

I cross my arms and glare at him. "And _I_ think you provoked me."

"So what? You _broke_ -"

Trelawney's watery voice interrupts us with, "Is there a problem, children?"

"Harry's wrist is broken."

"Because of you!"

"That is enough," Trelawney whispers. "Ms. Granger, please take Mr. Potter to see Madam Pomfrey. Mr. Weasley, you will escort Ms. Black to Professor McGonagall's office. Take your things, please."

I nod resignedly, not looking at anyone as I pack my bags and throw it over my shoulder, Hermione helping Harry with his as they leave. I follow Ron out, climbing down the ladder and silently walking towards the hospital wing. Ron and I are both silent, although I can feel his eyes on me.

"Are you going to yell at me too?" I ask him softly.

"…no." Ron sighs. "Why did you do it?"

"Did you _hear_ the things he was saying? He was on about my father, and how he's suddenly so hurt that he's an only child – even though we got over that more than a month ago!"

"Maybe he's not over it?" Ron suggests.

"But he _is_!" I insist. "He accepted the fact that Sirius was my father, no matter how insane he may be!"

"And then he found out that your father's the murderer or his parents-"

"Which I don't get, there's something off there," I grumble.

"-and now everything's bubbling up again. And if you think breaking his wrist is going to help matters, then you've got another thing coming."

I sigh heavily and slump a little lower. "I know."

Silence falls for the next few minutes until we reach McGonagall's office. Ron knocks and quickly explains the situation, waving me inside once he's done.

"Mr. Weasley, please wait out in the corridor until you are told otherwise." McGonagall orders, and Ron nods and gives me a reassuring look before scurrying out of the room.

"Now then," the Gryffindor Head of House sighs and turns to look at me. "Miss Black, please take a seat."

I cautiously lower myself into one of the chairs facing her desk while she takes the seat behind it.

"Have a biscuit, Miss Black," she offers, waving a hand towards the tin. I shrug and take one, nibbling on the edge and pleased to find out that it's just almonds.

"Miss Black, what are you here for?"

I swallow and clear my throat. "Breaking Harry's wrist, I'm assuming."

McGonagall nods. "That is correct. Here at Hogwarts, we never accept malicious violence between students. If it had been all in good fun, it would be different. Do you understand?"

I nod with a mouthful of biscuit.

"Miss Black, you and Mr. Potter have been friends for all of your time at Hogwarts, and now you are in my office for attacking him and he is in the Hospital Wing. Do you care to explain what is going on?"

I bite my lip as I stare out the window, watching the school grounds from afar. I couldn't tell McGonagall the entire truth, because that would mean selling Harry, Ron, and Hermione out for being in Hogsmeade and eavesdropping on authority figures. On the other hand, I couldn't exactly say nothing.

"He's feeling a bit betrayed, I expect," I begin slowly, still staring out the window. "We've been at odds about my father on and off since September."

"Nearly three months?"

I nod. "We had a fight in the beginning of October about my defensiveness regarding my father, but that was resolved fairly quickly. Now…it's all coming back."

"Why?" McGonagall asks bluntly.

I hesitate slightly before answering, "The relationship between Sirius Black and James Potter."

The professor nods. "Ah, I see."

"We're both extremely sensitive when it comes to our parents," I explain. "Harry because he's defending their memory and me because my father is possibly insane and a mass-murderer."

"Possibly?" McGonagall frowns. "Miss Black that is non-debatable. Sirius Black is a danger to both you and Mr. Potter."

"So you believe that he did murder the muggles and Mr. Pettigrew. I can't speak for the Muggles, ma'am, but Pettigrew blew up and left only a finger. Is that possible?"

I watch the frown deepen on the Transfiguration teacher's face. "I don't know, Miss Black, but I am not here to discuss your father's crimes with you."

"Right, only my own." I smirk. "So what'll it be?"

She huffs at me and shakes her head. "Very well then. Your detention will be to clean the trophy room for two weeks, with no magic, under the careful supervision of Mr. Filch."

 _Filch? Eugh._ I wince. "Well, I suppose it could be worse."

The corner of her lips quirk up slightly. "Yes, Miss Black, it could. Now, you are being allowed a small break until your Charms lesson, I ask that you spend it wisely."

I nod and, recognizing the dismissal, start to leave the room before I remember something and turn around. "Ma'am?"

Professor McGonagall looks up at me. "Yes?"

"I wanted to talk to you about my ankle cuff."

She raises an eyebrow. "I trust that you are not having any issues?"

I shake my head. "No, ma'am, but I wanted to bring something to your attention regarding my limitations."

"And that is…?"

"Quidditch," I reply simply. "I can't practice, and therefore I can't play. I also can't visit Hagrid or really leave the castle."

She blinks slowly. "I did not think of this. I have to admit yours is a talent that I'd rather the team had."

"I'd like to ask for an extension to encompass the school grounds," I continue. "Because the castle is feeling a bit like a prison, and I doubt that that's what it was intended for."

"No." McGonagall replies almost instantly. "No, never a prison. No one will ever be held here against their will. I will speak to Headmaster Dumbledore about this Miss Black, I assure you."

I nod gratefully. "Thank you, ma'am, that's all I ask."

"If that's all, then let me remind you that you have free time until your Charms lesson. Please spend it wisely."

I nod and leave the room, meeting Ron in the hall.

"So, how'd it go?" he asks eagerly.

"I got two weeks of trophy cleaning sans-magic with Filch."

He makes a face of disgust at the mention of the caretaker, but then his expression turns to hesitation. "I'm going to see Harry, wanna come?"

I shake my head. "Don't think I'll be very welcome. Tell him I'm sorry, yeah?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

I wave as we head in separate directions down the corridor, Ron heading for the Hospital Wing while I set out towards Myrtle's bathroom.

It takes about five minutes to get there, and I'm soon maneuvering myself behind my potion. It was a reddish-pink color now, and the book said that upon competition it should have a rosy pink hue. It was still about a month from that point.

I grin softly as I pick up a pouch of cat's claws and measure out the correct amount.

It was nice to know that I still had something to look forward to.

* * *

 ***clears throat***

 ***impersonates Trelawney voice* Hello dear readers! It is I, the author! I wanted to inform you of a poll that I've put up on my profile because I need help deciding the name for an OC that I'll be putting in a future HP book. Please vote, it's really important! The poll will close when I put the final chapter of this story up.**

 **Thank you, and please, please, please please** _ **please**_ **remember to review!**


	22. Chapter 22

Christmas couldn't come soon enough for me, what with Harry and I not speaking for a week and a half, Hermione and I going stir crazy in the library, and my potion a mere week and a half from completion and becoming more and more fickle by the day.

Christmas morning dawned clear and bright, with that bright, white light that snowfall brings streaming through the window. I flop over in bed with a groan, casting a quick _Tempus_ to check the time. 6:40 am.

 _Why was I awake, again? Nobody else would be up for 20 more minutes._

I blink blearily at the ceiling for a few more minutes before deciding that I wasn't going back to sleep and rolling out of bed, hissing as my bare feet touch the cold stone ground. I quickly flip over and grab my red and gold slippers before getting out of bed again and padding down the stairs.

Once I reach the last step, I stop and look out into the Common Room.

There, sitting on the couch and looking more dejected than I've seen him since the last Hogsmeade visit, is Harry.

"Hey," I yawn, "what're you doing up?"

"Hey." He doesn't turn around. "I'm fine."

I sigh and walk around the couch, perching on the opposite end of the couch. "It's 6:45, and you, Harry, in all the years I've known you, have never been up before 7 if you can help it."

"It's Christmas?" he tries weakly.

I shake my head, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes. I look over at what's on his lap; it's the old photo album Hagrid gave him first year. "What are you looking at?"

He glances up, and I see his eyes glisten. "C'mere."

I scoot over and lean over his shoulder. The picture he's looking at is of a man in a suit with inky black hair that stuck up all over the place, with hazel eyes and glasses, standing next to a woman in a white dress with fiery red hair and eyes just like Harry's, both of them grinning happily and waving up at us.

"Your parents," I realize breathlessly. "Lily and James."

He nods. "Their wedding day. But look at this." He taps the picture to the left of his father, and I look over at a man I didn't see before. Given the fact that he has one hand on James' shoulder, I'm guessing he was the best man; maybe a brother.

The man has black hair that falls over his eyes, a brilliant smile, and grey eyes.

"Harry…" I whisper, "Who is it?"

"Sirius Black."

I tense at the now-familiar name, waiting for the tension we've felt around each other lately to come back with a vengeance.

"I'm sorry, Ori," he scrubs a hand over his face, running a hand through his hair that mirrors his father's. "I shouldn't have taken my anger at Black out on you."

I wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Don't get all mushy on me…and I'm sorry about your wrist."

"Don't worry," he reassures me, "It healed fine. But don't think I'll forget about it. Just imagine, we'll be studying for our N.E.W.T.s and BAM! 'Remember that time you broke my wrist in third year?'"

I scowl and shove him over, and by now he's laughing hysterically. "Don't you dare. I promise you I'll have learned some more hexes by then, and you'll be sorry you ever brought it up."

He's still laughing as he rights himself and pulls the album back into his lap. "Sure I will. What time is it?"

"Seven in the morning," a voice announces from behind us. "You're both up already?"

I turn towards the stairs to find Hermione standing on the last step, dressed in a t-shirt and some loose pants with her hair still untamed. She's looking decidedly tired, but her smile (at least) doubles when she sees us cohabiting the couch and not a broken bone in sight. "You've made up, then?"

"It's Christmas," I shrug, grinning as I reused Harry's excuse from earlier, "We couldn't be mad at each other on _Christmas_."

She just shakes her head and walks over to give each of us a hug. "You're both just so _stubborn_ sometimes!"

"I think the word you're looking for is 'strong-willed'," I inform her as I back out of the hug and stand, slowly moving towards the dorm stairs, up which my presents were located.

"I can see you, Ori." Hermione drones without turning around, and I take a moment to bemusedly wonder just _how_ she does that, "The girls should be up by now."

The unspoken _go get your presents, you big child_ is fondly received.

I dart up the stairs, shoving the door open and diving for the modest pile of presents sitting by the foot of my bed. I'm about to grab the first present within reach when a voice makes me freeze.

"What did the _traitor_ get for Christmas, hmmm?"

I stop and look up at Fay Dunbar, who was perched primly on her bed and looking down at me with a poisonous smile.

"Yeah, did she get any presents from _Daddy_?" Lavender sneers.

"I don't know, girls, let's take a look." Eloise reaches for the present closest to her but I stand and take a step forward before she can touch them.

"I don't know what I got, Dunbar," I fire back, "but at least my presents mean something – unlike yours."

"How _dare_ you?" she bellows, and I step out of her reach, snatching my wand off my nightstand. They all shrink back, and something inside of me feels slightly – just slightly – proud.

"I'm not going to hex anyone," I inform them with a regretful sigh. "Too much trouble for me." Instead, I turn to my presents, shrinking them all down and placing them in a bag I had grabbed off my bed. I quickly leave the dorm, letting the door slam behind me.

 _Note to self: ask Fred and George for some non-dangerous yet utterly terrifying hexes._

* * *

I poke my head into the boys' dorm. "Is everyone awake?"

Harry doesn't look that surprised that I'm here; but, then again, Hermione and I _were_ prone to barging in and waking them up. "Ron and I are the only ones in here, I don't know where Seamus, Dean, and Neville are."

I open the door the rest of the way, stepping over their small piles of presents and wrapping paper and finding a seat by the foot of what I thought was Neville's bed. "Do you mind? My dorm hates me."

They both shake their heads, and I dump my shrunken presents out onto the floor in front of me and quickly enlarge them all.

My presents are fairly routine: a big bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and a stuffed Quaffle from Harry, a broomstick maintenance kit from Ron ("How long have you been waiting to give this to me?" " _Years_."), and a book on Divination from Hermione (I think she knew about my occasional insomnia and thought I needed help falling asleep).

I also had the usual from Mrs. Weasley – a box of homemade fudge, some peanut brittle, and a rich purple sweater with a golden O, A, and B in a diagonal pattern down the sweater.

Just as I'm cleaning up and organizing my presents, I notice another package, half hidden underneath the nearest bed. It's not wrapped specially, either; just brown paper.

"What's this?" I grab it, and Harry looks up from where he was inspecting his own scarlet sweater.

"Is it yours?" he asks curiously.

"It's got my name on it," I point out just as Ron speaks up with "Harry, mate, you've got one too!"

I start tearing at the paper as Harry retrieves his package, and what's inside makes my jaw drop.

I'm looking at a sleek, dark-handled broom with immaculate twigs and golden lettering. "Holy mother off Merlin…"

"Is that a _Firebolt_?!"

I try and nod to answer Ron's bewildered question, but I can't muster up enough saliva to do so.

"Who sent it to you?" Ron asks, slightly reverently.

Without answering, I gingerly set the broom aside and inspect the paper for a note. I do find a small slip of paper, but it offers no clues as to who sent it.

It just reads: _Thought I'd make up for twelve years' worth of Christmases._

At first I'm just confused, because if that isn't cryptic then I don't know what is, and then it hits me: _twelve years._ Whoever this was must've known me twelve years ago, and the only people still alive today that knew who I was beyond the concealment charms were Remus Lupin and…Sirius Black.

One of them had given me this broom, and given the state of Lupin's robes, I honestly didn't think he could afford an international quality broom. Which left one option: Sirius Black – mass-murderer, escaped and highly dangerous felon, and my father.

I pull in a shocked breath and tuck the note into my sweater as I glance between the brooms, one by me and the other near Harry. They were nearly identical; with glossy dark handles that I suspected were ebony, like my wand, and not ash, as the store had proclaimed. The twigs on the broom, I remembered, either came in birch or hazel; Harry's broom had lighter twigs, probably birch, while mine were darker in color, which probably meant hazel.

Which Broomstick _has a piece on the different qualities of the two twig types,_ I remind myself. _I'm checking that out later. First-_

"Let's go show Hermione!" Ron practically squeals, and the two boys are up and out of the room before I can say anything about what I've found out.

I shake my head as I grab my own broom, following them out and letting the door shut behind me.

Hermione already has them deep in interrogation when I reach the Common Room.

"Who do you think sent them?" she wonders out loud just as I reach the bottom step.

"I know who sent them," I admit quietly as I step fully into the room. "Well, mine, at least, but they're probably the same person."

Ron raises his eyebrows at me. "Well? Spill!"

I hold his gaze. "And why should I?" I challenge. "Hermione can probably guess who it was without me…right, Hermione?"

The bushy-haired bookworm frowns at me. "Was it…no, it couldn't be."

I simply stare at her, my face blank.

"Well?" Harry asks testily, the tapping of his foot thumping against the ground.

Hermione sighs and crosses her arms. "It doesn't matter. Forget about it."

They both reluctantly return to admiring Harry's broom, and Hermione gives me a glare the next time we cross paths. _I know who did this._

I pull up my lip in return. _And?_

I wasn't really feeling the Christmas spirit, to be honest.

Around lunch time we head down to the Great Hall, and I grin at the cheerfully beautiful decorations that were up. I loved Hogwarts' Christmases; they far outshined ones at Privet Drive.

The house tables are pushed up against the walls, and a single table is in the middle of the room instead. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch and three other students; two extremely twitchy first years and a sulking Slytherin fifth year whom I think was named Nott.

"Merry Christmas!" Dumbledore calls as we approach the table. "As there are so few of us, I figured it foolish to use the House tables…sit down, sit down!"

We gather around the end of the table, and I watch as Dumbledore offers Snape a cracker. I can't help myself as I snort into my water glass when it turns out to be a perfect replica of Neville's grandmother's stuffed vulture hat.

After I have my plate filled and I'm just about to take my first bite, the Hall doors open again. Surprisingly, it's Trelawney, and I mutely note that the fact that she's wearing a green sequined dress makes her look even more bug-like than usual.

"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" Dumbledore greets her warmly, flicking his wand to conjure up a new chair and place setting.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," Trelawney says in her mistiest voice, "and, to my amazement, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming down here to join you all. Who am I to deny fate?"

"Tripe, Sybill?" McGonagall asks sharply, tension clear in her voice.

Trelawney ignores her, looking around as if searching for something. "Where is Professor Lupin?"

"Ah, the poor fellow is ill again," Dumbledore sighs. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

I frown. Lupin was sick again? He was sick last month, too, around this time…and the month before that, now that I think about it, the month before that as well; always around the end of the month, too.

Either the poor guy gets sick a _lot_ , or-

"-but one does not parade the fact that they are All-Knowing." Trelawney is staring coldly at McGonagall, and the Divination and Transfiguration teachers seemed to be locked in a bitter argument.

"That explains a great deal," McGonagall snorts.

When Trelawney retorts, her voice is miraculously cured of its mistiness. "If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us much longer. He seems aware, himself, that his time with us is limited. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him-"

"Imagine that," McGonagall cuts in dryly, and I hastily cover my snicker with my napkin.

"I doubt," says Dumbledore, his voice only slightly raised from normal level, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger-"

"Unless Trelawney keeps offering to crystal gaze for him," I mutter to Hermione, "then he'll be in trouble."

I grin as she spits out her water, eyes brimming with tears of mirth.

Christmas dinner is mainly uneventful for the next two hours, the most exciting thing being the tension between McGonagall and Trelawney, which I literally followed like a tennis match.

When Ron, Harry, and I stand from the table, however, the Divination professor begins shrieks like Petunia at her worst.

"Which one of you rose first?" she demands. "Which one?"

"Um, me?" I sputter in shock. "Why?"

"The first to rise is the first to die!" she wails.

I stare at her for a moment before snorting softly and turning to McGonagall. "Professor," I tell her with mock seriousness, "if, by chance, there's an axe-murderer waiting outside those doors, im afraid I won't be able to hand in that essay on how to turn chairs into dragons."

I swear she almost smiles at as she returns to her potatoes.

I turn and run about of the Great Hall, Ron right on my toes, and of course we end up in a race back to the Common Room.

The four of us just laze around for a while, with Ron and I playing a modified gamed kind of like hacky sack with my stuffed Quaffle and Harry just admiring his broom. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, but she hadn't come back with us, instead saying she had to talk to Professor McGonagall.

Our game is interrupted when the portrait hole opens again and the bookworm herself steps through, followed by McGonagall. Hermione didn't meet any of our eyes as she sat down by the fire with a book…that was upside down?

"So that's it, then?" McGonagall asks, approaching Harry's Firebolt. "Miss Granger informed me you've been sent a broomstick, Mr. Potter. And you too, Miss Black, if you'll go retrieve yours?"

I give her a hesitant nod, jogging up the stairs to the boys' dorms and returning quickly with my broomstick. "Professor?" I ask worriedly. "What's going on?"

She ignores me, instead continuing to carefully examine Harry's broomstick from top to bottom and then doing the same to mine. "Hmmm. And there was no note at all? No card? No message of any kind?"

"No," Harry replies blankly.

"Um – Professor?" I stutter, fishing out my note with shaking hands. "This…this was with mine."

She takes the note and reads it for a moment, glancing between Harry, the note, and I, before nodding, apparently having come to a decision. "I see. Well, I'm afraid I'll have to take these."

"W-What?" Harry croaks, and my mind roars with white noise. "Why?!"

"It will need to be checked for jinxes," McGonagall explains patiently. "I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will have to strip it down-"

"Strip it down?" Ron parrots, looking at our Head of House as if she were mad.

"It shouldn't take more than a few weeks, I'm sure." she reassures us, but it's not helping very much. "You will have it back once it is jinx-free."

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Harry protests.

"You can't know that, Potter." McGonagall points out. "Not until you've flown it, anyhow, which I can assure you is out of the question until we make sure that both of them have not been tampered with. I shall keep you two informed."

With that she turns on her heel and marches out of the Common Room. I stand in silence for a moment, just watching the portrait hole with blood roaring like my house mascot in my ears before I round on Hermione. "What did you go running to her for?!"

Hermione throws her book down – an uncharacteristic move for her – and faces me boldly, although her cheeks were still a little pink. "Because I think – and Professor McGonagall agrees with me – that those brooms were sent by Sirius Black!"

I stare at her for a moment before I can't take anymore and choose the path less traveled in my history of choices.

I turn and run out of the Common Room.

* * *

 **Please, please, please remember to review!**

 **And 10 House Points to whomever can name the spell that turns chairs into dragons.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N at the bottom! Important!**

* * *

I'm not sure at what point the second floor girl's bathroom with the annoying ghost and secret chamber of evil became my sanctuary.

I really have no clue, but somehow I end up in front of the door after my escape from the Common Room and all of their accusing stares – ( _they were staring – accusing – traitor – oh_ _merlin no)_ –

I shove the door open roughly, not caring a bit as I slams loudly against the wall, and instead of heading to the stall like I usually do, I lean against the far wall like it's my only anchor in a hurricane.

I squeeze my eyes shut so hard that it's painful as I slide loosely down the wall, listening to my breath come in short, hiccupping gasps and feeling my fingernails press into my palms sharply.

I almost don't feel the chill of a ghost approaching. "Are you okay, Black?"

My voice comes out part croak, part gasp. "What does it _look_ like?"

Everything falls silent again for a long moment, and the still-functioning part of my brain (a very small part, mind you) numbly registers Myrtle's sensitivity, but majority rules that out.

"What's…wrong?"

"Why can't he just leave me _al-lone_ …" I moan, my voice breaking and crackling like a bad record.

"Who are – _oh_."

"Yeah, _oh_." I grumble, still not opening my eyes but allowing my head to flop into my hands. "He sent me a Christmas present today."

"And…I'm assuming that isn't _good_ ," Myrtle says, and I can almost hear her smirk.

I shake my head. "It was a Firebolt. A _Firebolt_. A freaking, actual _Firebolt._ Except Hermione thinks it might be jinxed, so she told McGonagall, and now they have to _strip it down_ and – and – why can't he just leave me alone?"

"Um, a jinxed broomstick isn't a good thing," Myrtle points out. "And unless Hogwarts has changed magnificently since the 1940's, Hermione – as annoying as she is to me-"

I harrumph at her.

"Fine. She's your friend. And your friends always have your best interests in mind."

"I know that, but I'm not upset about Hermione here!" I exclaim. "I'm upset about my father, who I didn't even know existed for thirteen years and I certainly don't need now!"

"He could just be trying to atone for his mistakes," Myrtle hypothesizes.

"By buying me stuff." I counter, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I…I can't even remember the man, Myrtle. I vaguely remember a warm feeling when I was, like, still a newborn, but beyond that? All of the racing brooms in the world can't really make up for the fact that he missed almost my entire life, letting me think that I was the daughter of his dead best friend. Come to think of it, I don't really even know why I was kept under the concealment charms – after Voldemort," I can hear her hiss at the name, and I sigh before starting again.

"After _Voldemort_ died – or whatever the heck he did, I dunno – nobody was in any danger! Couldn't they have left me a note for the Dursleys to give to me, or even have Dumbledore tell me on my first day here? That would have given me two years of adjustment up to this point, but now I not only have to deal with _this escaped murderer is after you_ , but on top of that I have _and, oh look, he's the father you didn't even now you had!_ How is that fair, hm? Please tell how that's fair!"

Once I pause to take a breath, I notice that the only sound in the bathroom is my voice – now a yell – echoing off the walls. The chill is still there, though, so I crack open an eye to see Myrtle watching me with an amused expression, like any of what I had just ranted about was _funny_.

I huff at her and pick my head up to rest my chin on my arms, which were folded on top of my knees, and my knees were pulled up to my chest with my back against the wall.

"Are you done yet?" Myrtle asks bluntly, and I nod. "Okay. First, that's not fair, but then neither is life – look at me, I'm dead. I died at fourteen. You think _you_ have it bad? Deal with it. Secondly, would you rather be in Harry's position – he has no parents, and never will, so at least he doesn't have to hope – or have a father, somewhere out there, and not know him at all but at least have a _chance_ to do so?"

I stare at her in silence for a few minutes before I gather the courage to speak. "Are _you_ done yet?"

She rolls her eyes at me, purposefully lunging forward and passing through me, so that I felt like I had taken an ice bath.

I sigh and lean my head back against the chipped stone wall behind me. "Look at me, getting all sappy." I shake my head as I stand, brushing myself off and eyeing my stall.

"I'll probably be in here until dinner," I tell Myrtle, "so…just go do whatever it is you do – stalk bathrooms or something. Don't wait up."

The ghost nods and zips off to somewhere as I slip under the stall door, which I had locked and stuck from the inside to prevent spying eyes, and scooch around the cauldron and hop up to crouch on the toilet, grabbing the Animagus book from where I had squeezed it between the toilet and the wall, propping it open with one hand.

I glance at the book and grab a pouch of…mandrake leaves? Yes, mandrake leaves. Finely crushed mandrake leaves, to be exact, because that was the next ingredient.

I was excited – the potion was supposed to be done on the 31st, which was six days away. Everything had gone smoothly (meaning no explosions, implosions, or other catastrophes) so far, and soon – very soon – I would be able to drink my concoction and unlock the first step of transforming into whatever animal came to me.

The book said that the youngest recorded Animagus was twenty something. I was _thirteen_ , and if that wasn't amazing…

On the topic of recordation, however, I had already decided – before step one was even started - not to get registered and be a good little Animagus like I was supposed to for a few reasons: a) I needed a secret weapon against Moldy-warts, and if I register myself (therefore telling everyone) then that takes the purpose out of a _secret_ weapon, b) I wanted to have a little fun with keeping something this big to myself, and c) I wanted to see how long it would take people to figure it out.

I had promised myself that after the war, after Voldemort was dead for real this time and I had laid eyes on his cooling corpse, I would go to the Ministry and register, because there is no need for secret weapons in times of peace.

But first, I had to brew this potion.

Alone.

In a dingy bathroom stall.

After a major emotional breakdown.

 _Merry Christmas, indeed._

* * *

 **Hello! Sorry for the shorter chapter here, but if I didn't end it where I did then it would've gone on forever.**

 **Also absolutely** _ **nobody**_ **reviewed the last chapter, so I'm going to leave the question about the chairs to dragons spell (check the last chapter A/N) open for a little while longer. And don't forget the poll on my profile! Thank you to the 5 people who've voted.**

 **Please review! Pretty please with a hippogriff on top!**


	24. Chapter 24

**This is it! The chapter you've all (or at least I have) been waiting for! I tried my best and the Animagus-dream, so I hope you guys like it.**

* * *

The castle is mostly silent except for my hurried footsteps, the corridor – and almost the entire castle – deserted because 95% of the students were still on their winter holidays.

The sun was almost setting outside, turning the sky a fiery orange. It looked like the sky was on fire, and-

 _And the potion fumes must be getting to me._ I shake my head in disbelief.

 _Well you did spend two months inhaling them_ , a little voice points out.

"And now I'm taking to myself." I snort, the abrasive sound echoing off the walls. I shake my head again and pick up the pace, being sure not to jostle the bundle in my pocket too much.

It was about 8:00pm on the thirty-first of December, which meant that the day that I had been preparing for since the beginning of November was here – it was D-Day. Or Judgement Day, maybe.

Whatever you wanted to call it, tonight I would find out what my 'inner beast' looked like and by the time the sun rose tomorrow morning I would be able to start developing my Latin incantation.

I couldn't help but wonder what I would be – the Animagus book had said that you had absolutely no say whatsoever in what your Animagus form was. It reflected who you were, much like your Patronus did; in fact, it said, a wizard or witch's Patronus and Animagus form were often the same.

I pretty much disregarded that because I didn't know what my Patronus was yet, so that wasn't much help.

Besides being wonderstruck, I was also filled with a fair amount of fear; not only because my form _could_ be something like a flobberworm, but also because of the fact that a person's form reflected _all_ of their qualities, good and bad.

There were seven registered Animagi in the 20th century: Professor McGonagall was a gray tabby; Tammeline Creswell was a Siamese cat, Quinten Rumley was a common sparrow, James McGee was a timber wolf, Felicity Wilson was a seagull, Jacques Decrier was an Artic Fox, and Melissa de Santiago-Rodriguez was an Amazonian Macaw. Each of these people's forms matched their personalities, both good and bad. For instance, McGonagall was wise, careful, sure of herself, and intelligent, but on the other hand she was a bit tight-laced and strict – _just like a cat._

I'll admit that I had been doing a lot of introspection lately, trying to figure out what I had that would help me and what would hinder me. I've been told I was quick to anger – would I be a rhino? I also knew I had a tendency to be rash, and I had no clue what that meant.

The introspection was usually followed by me angrily shaking my head and telling myself to _get a grip, honestly, I've come too far now!_

"Password, dear?" a voice interrupts my thoughts, and I blink owlishly. "What?"

"The password, dear," the Fat Lady repeats, sounding slightly annoyed. "Are you going to give me the password or just stand there until you freeze?"

I offer the painting a sheepish grin and rub the back of my neck embarrassedly. "Right, um…Husburemist?"

"Correct!" she praises before swinging open and letting me crawl carefully through the portrait hole.

I move swiftly through the Common Room, for once not being absorbed in the always-warm atmosphere that the room held. I just wanted not to be seen.

I make it up to the dorm without anyone noticing, and, after making sure that nobody was inside, close the door firmly behind me and take a seat on my bed.

I draw the bundle out of my pocket, unwrapping an old sweater of mine to reveal a small vial: the potion. It was a pearly, pinkish-white color, about the consistency of toothpaste with a smell of rotting gym socks and a taste that probably wasn't much better.

I set the small vial down carefully, never taking my eyes off it as I use a spare piece of parchment and a quill to write a quick note on what I was doing in case I didn't wake up on time…or at all. I slip the paper into the locked drawer with the Marauder's Map, the picture of my father, and his letter before I pick up the potion again, swirling it around slightly in the vial.

This was it. The second this potion – two months of my blood, sweat, tears – touched my lips, there would be no going back. This wasn't reversible. In about twelve or so hours I would be training to be an Animagus, and I needed to see that through, lest I end up with a tail or covered in fur for the rest of my life.

This was my last chance to back out. It would be so easy too; just smash the vile, _Scourgify_ the potion, forget all about-

 _No._

"I need to do this," I whisper to the empty room, fingering the cork capping the vial and, closing my eyes, pulling.

I give a fake cough to cover up the cork pop, taking a deep breath and plugging my nose before tipping the vial back and making sure to down every last drop of the potion – which tastes just as bad, if not worse, than it smells.

The effects are almost instantaneous. I become extremely sleepy, dizzy, and my thoughts slow to a crawl, and I quickly move with the last of my consciousness to lay down on the bed and cover myself up.

My eyelids flutter shut and everything goes black just before one last thought flutters through.

 _Here goes nothing_ …

 _~/~/~_

 _The place where I am is white, boundless, and silent._

 _I don't know where I am. I don't know_ _ **who**_ _I am, not really. I can tell you what I look like, but I can't tell you my name or…anything else._

 _There is no noise, I notice; not even my own heartbeat._

 _I'm not scared by that fact; in fact, I am not scared at all, I simply…am. But I'm peaceful, so I don't entirely care._

 _I'm not sure how long I stay where I am, wherever it is, but I never want to leave; I like it here, where it's quiet and I am nothing and something at the same time._

 _A noise comes from behind me, but I don't want to look at it. It disturbed my peace and brought noise to my silence, and that annoys me._

 _Something catches my eye, though, and I move my head ever so slowly to look at it._

 _There's a black dog standing there._

 _I watch it for a moment before I realize that I know this animal. 'It' is a she, and she stands at about my knee level at the shoulders._

 _The dog looks like a Labrador Retriever, with a lean yet muscular build, but with medium-length, glossy black fur all over, and a sort-of feathery tail that was held parallel to the ground as of right now. She has a strong snout and jaw, able to break bones yet still carry an egg safely._

 _The dog has a proud, sure air to her, exuding confidence. However, I could also tell that she was scared of losing those that she cared about and betrayal – anyone turning against her or those she cared about – was worse than death in her mind._

 _I freeze as the dog lifts her head to meet mine, and I would have gasped, had I been breathing._

 _Her eyes are the same exact shade of grey as mine, and they're watching me intelligently but with a mischievous gleam._

 _And then I realize something: this was no ordinary dog. This was me in a dog's body._

 _The dog nods sagely and I suddenly can't move as she leaps forward, straight at my chest._

 _Everything goes from white to black in an instant on impact, and all that's left are the last tones of a thundering bark._

 _~/~/~_

Everything comes back to me in about a second, leaving me pressed against the mattress as my mind gets assaulted with all of my five senses, the dog's last bark still echoing in my ears.

Or should I say my bark?

I lay there, gasping and panting even once the mental assault fades. Once I have enough of my breath regained, I grab my wand and give in a flick, whispering " _Tempus_ ," into the quiet room.

5:20, it reads. I was in that room for almost nine and a half hours; which was odd, considering that I don't think time existed and it felt both longer and shorter than that at the same time.

Although, good news: now I knew what my 'inner beast' was. A dog. I was a dog, not a flobberworm or a cockroach or anything else insect like.

It couldn't make much more sense, honestly. Dogs were loyal but easily provoked, playful and loving yet serious and bite back at times.

I chuckle quietly as I throw the covers back and grab the note from earlier out of the drawer, making my way to the bathroom and locking the door.

I fill the sink with cool water before putting the parchment on the counter and standing back. " _Incendio_."

The note burns quickly, as parchment does, and I quickly levitate it into the sink, extinguishing the fire before it can do any harm.

I let the now ash-filled water drain as I leave the bathroom, grabbing the Animagus book and a cloak before leaving the dorm.

There had to be a Latin to English dictionary somewhere in this castle, and I was going to find it.

I had an incantation to work on.

* * *

 **Ta-da! Hope you people liked it as much as I liked writing that.**

 **Hallucinations are fun.**

 **(To write, anyways.)**

 **A picture of the dog can be found here: 736x /a5 /1d /4b /a51d4b8a80f59ee50a786a26404b01b1. jpg**

 **Please, please tell me what you think of her form and maybe what her incantation should include! I'm open for ideas!**

 **Reviews are amazing.**


	25. Chapter 25

**Please, please, please review! Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter!**

 **And happy Hanukkah to all who celebrate it, just in case I don't update by then.**

* * *

Once the new year came, the euphoria I felt at successfully finding my Animagus form faded slightly as the castle became crowded again and I had to keep my head low, but to tell the truth I was slightly relived for the extra company, whether they hated me or not, because the tension between my friends was getting to be suffocating.

Harry and Ron were angry with Hermione over the whole Firebolt incident – Harry was upset that, for a few hours, he had been the owner of the best broom in the world and because of Hermione he might never get it back. He was also convinced that both brooms were jinx-free, and as much as I wanted to believe my father would never hurt me, I wasn't sure about that.

Ron was downright furious – in his eyes, the stripping down of a broom like our Firebolts was nothing less than a crime. As much as I was known for my short fuse, I had to admit he was being a bit ornery about the entire ordeal; lamenting the brooms loudly when he knew Hermione was right there, not even acknowledging her presence when they were in the same room, and completely refusing to even let her explain herself.

Hermione had been booted out of her own Common Room, and I only saw her at meals, in classes, and when I was in the library either looking for dog books or Latin dictionaries. She was pouring herself into Buckbeak's case at an almost unhealthy level, but I didn't dare mention it to either her, for fear of getting my head bitten off, or the boys, because I doubted they'd listen anyways.

Personally I was trying to stay as far away as humanly possible from either side, because while I didn't want to believe that my international-quality broom was jinxed, I knew Hermione was just looking out for us. My main concern regarding this whole issue was who sent the broom, and I really wasn't sleeping very well at night because of that.

Although, some good had come with the return to school: McGonagall had gotten my ankle cuff limitations extended. I was now allowed on school grounds from sunrise to sunset, excluding all of the Forbidden Forest, and I had escaped to the lake several times when the Common Room gets too tense.

Really, the only time I _had_ to see all of them was classes and dinner.

Oliver was both ecstatic about having two Firebolts on his team and mad that they had been taken away, and he had a tendency to talk my ears off about it, like he did one January afternoon, almost making me late for Defense.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I – _wait_." I skid to a stop and stare at the billowing black robes of the Potions Professor. "You're not Professor Lupin."

"A brilliant observation, Miss Black," Snape sneers, spitting out my name like it was poison. "And now that you've finally joined us, ten points from Gryffindor for your tardiness. Sit down."

I stay quiet as I slide into a seat away from Harry and Ron but a bit closer to Hermione. "I hope Lupin's okay."

Hermione just gives me an unreadable look as she sets her book down on the table. "He might be."

"He's been sick at least once a month for the entire year," I continue. "Do you think he has some sort of disease, or-"

"Miss Black," Snape sneers, and suddenly he's right in front of my desk, "did I tell you to chat with Ms. Granger?"

I raise my eyes defiantly to hold his gaze. "No sir, but I was the one speaking, not Hermione."

"I do not care." He growls. "Twenty _more_ points from Gryffindor. Do it again and you will both have detention. Turn to page 394 in your textbooks and read the chapter on werewolves."

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, "But, sir, we-" but I silence her with a look and a small shake of my head.

I flip to the designated page and prop my chin on my hand as I begin to read.

 _Werewolves…dangerous…full moon…transform, blah, blah, blah…_

"Ori!" Hermione hisses, and I glance up at her. "Look at paragraph four."

" _Werewolves only transform on the full moon, which occurs once every month, usually around the same time per month. There has been recorded months of two full moons in one month, but it is rare._

 _Before werewolf transforms, the symptoms become quite clear. He/she will become extremely tired, sore, and lethargic; almost as if they had the flu. Werewolves will not be able to carry out their human responsibilities for a few days both before and after the full moon…"_

I blink at the book a few times as the words sink into my brain.

Werewolves essentially acted sick once a month, around the same time each month, and became pretty much unable to be human.

Lupin had been sick once each month since he worked here and they were all usually near the end of the month, in the last week or two.

I shiver as my brain puts two and two together, looking back up at Hermione, who was staring at me with eyes that held an odd mixture of fear, uncertainness, disbelief, and reluctance.

I feel like I could throw up as Professor Snape assigns us all a three page essay on signs to identify a werewolf. As soon as he dismisses us, I grab Hermione and take off out of the classroom, silently thanking whatever deities that existed that Potions was our last class before lunch.

"Ori," Hermione gasps as we approach the Common Room, "what are – where are –"

"Trust me," I plead between giving the Fat Lady the password and hopping through the opening. "I know a place where we can talk."

"If you say so…"

"I do." I call back as I dash up the stairs to our dorm, quickly grabbing the Marauder's Map and the Latin dictionary I had been using for the past two weeks. A quick check of the map reveals almost nobody near where I want to be, and I quickly refold it and stick it in my back pocket before taking off down the stairs again.

I don't break stride as I grab Hermione again. "Come on, I know a place we can talk."

"Alright, but can you at least let go of me?"

"Fine." I drop her arm and slow down a little as we continue out the Common Room and down a flight of stairs. "But stay quiet, please."

"'Rissa, where-"

"I'll explain when we get there," I cut her off. "Just…come on."

About five minutes later we're in Hogwarts' east basement, standing in front of a familiar picture of a bowl of fruit.

"The kitchens?" Hermione asks suspiciously from behind me. "Um, this isn't really _private_ , per say…"

I wave her off dismissively as I tickle the pear. "I know a guy." The painting swings open, and I step forward and just barely brace myself before a short, green blur slams into me.

"Missy Rissy!" Dobby squeals as squeezes my torso even harder. "Dobby is being so glad to see you's, Miss! Dobby was telling all of his coworkers about you's true self!"

"Thanks, Dobby," I grunt as I discreetly try to loosen his vice grip on my midsection. "What do they think of my father?"

The elf's usually chipper features darken slightly. "The elves do not agree, Missy Rissy. Dobby is believing he is being innocent, ma'am, for the older elves say that Mister Black was kind to them when he was a student, and that he would never betray his friends, but the other elves is saying the want to chop his head off with a meat cleaver…Miss."

I hide the snicker that arises at that mental image behind my hand. "Okay then. Dobby, I need your help."

"Dobby is getting to help Missy Rissy!" Dobby jumps up into what I guess is the elf equivalent of 'at attention'. "What does Miss need?"

"I need a secluded table for the next," I glance at the clock on the wall, "half an hour and a privacy bubble. Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, two plates of whatever they're serving in the Great Hall. Please?"

Dobby nods enthusiastically, his big bat ears flapping wildly. "Dobby will do that, Miss, for Dobby is proud to serve you's! The table is this way."

I motion for Hermione to follow as Dobby grabs my hand and leads us to a small wooden table with two chairs, out of sight of the main kitchen and hidden in a small alcove off to the side. With a snap of his fingers I can see the green sheen of the privacy bubble appear, and with another snap there's two plates of roast beef and mashed potatoes with two goblets of pumpkin juice. "Is that all, Miss?"

I nod and reach to pat the elf on the head. "Yes, thank you Dobby. I'll tell Harry you said hello."

With a nod and a crack he disappears, and I take one of the seats.

"What was that?" Hermione questions curiously as we both dig in to our plates.

"House elf," I mumble around a mouthful of potatoes, "'m not sure if the library has anything on 'em."

I see the usual spark of glee at a new research topic ignite in Hermione's eyes as she continues her questioning. "He treats you like royalty, why is that?"

"I helped get him away from a bad…" I hesitate, not sure how Hermione would react to the word 'master', let alone finding out it was Lucius Malfoy, "…sort of people, and he's had that hero worship thing for both Harry and I ever since." I shrug.

The table falls silent until we're finished, and after I've stacked the dishes neatly off to the side I place the Latin dictionary on the table while Hermione takes out what looks like the lunar calendars we use in Astronomy.

"Okay," I start, "so. Lupin."

"If our theory is correct, the reason he should be out today is because he's either preparing or recuperating," Hermione hypothesizes. "Today is the 24th…there's a full moon this Thursday." She blinks.

"Could it be a coincidence?" I ask hopefully.

She doesn't answer as she looks at something else on the chart. "Do you remember when he was out last month?"

I crinkle my brow in thought. "I don't think he was at our lesson on the 29th."

"And the month before that?"

"I…he wasn't at the lesson on the 30th…Hermione?"

"The full moon for December 1993 was on the 28th and November 1993 was the 29th," she reports in a flat tone before drawing in a shaky breath and looking at me with tears in her eyes. "Ori, is Professor Lupin…?"

"Not yet," I mutter weakly as I grab the dictionary and flip to the L's. "There's one more theory I want to test."

"Why do you even have a Latin dictionary?"

"I needed it for…stuff," I reply distractedly as I find the word I'm looking for. "Aha! 'Wolf' in Latin is _lupus._ "

"Lupin." She repeats slowly, feeling the sounds of the word on her tongue. She sighs. "It's not a coincidence, is it."

I shake my head in response to the non-question and put my head in my heads. "It's official, our luck with DADA teachers _sucks_."

"First Quirrel," Hermione remembers, "then Lockhart, and now…"

"Professor Lupin's a werewolf."


	26. Chapter 26

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ "

The silver mist pours from my wand again and I just barely catch a glimpse of two legs and the barest outline of a back.

"Good work, Orissa!" Lupin congratulates as he comes up behind. "That's all for today?"

I turn around to face him, letting out a whine that sounded a lot like the dog I would one day be able to transform into. "One more? _Please_?"

He shakes his head. "Puppy-dog eyes don't work on me, sorry. Your father was a true master at those. I've become immune."

I huff, mentally adding another item to ' _The list of ways I am identical to my father'._

Lupin gives me a sad smile. "Have a good day, Orissa."

I nod and grab my bag, heading towards the door.

"Do you like pranks, Orissa?" Lupin asks behind me, his tone completely casual.

I slowly turn back around to face him. "I'm not sure I should answer that, sir."

Lupin smirks. "Oh. If you were, by any chance, you might want to know that slug slime works very well as a magical glue."

I can't help the slightly manic grin spreading from one ear to another. "Oh. Okay. Thanks, Professor."

I don't hear his reply as I bolt from the classroom. As soon as I'm safely in the corridor, I drop my bag and dig out a familiar piece of parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." I whisper, my adrenaline beginning to course as the lines crawl out across the paper.

I quickly find the two dots I was looking for and tap my wand against the map again. "Mischief Managed." I shove the map back in my bag and take off, tearing towards the eastern side of the castle and down to the basement.

"Fred! George!" I shout as I hop into the kitchen. "Oi, dunderheads!"

"We're in here!" a disembodied voice calls, and I follow the sound into an abandoned storage closet, about double the width of my bed and just as long. "Hello, apprentice."

I roll my eyes. " _How_ many times do I have to tell you that I am _not_ an apprentice, more of a consultant?"

"I don't see why you can't be our apprentice-", one of the twins stars (Fred, I think)

"-if you were to join the pranking brotherhood full time." the other finishes.

I give them an exasperated look. "We've been over this. When I graduate in four years, I want to become an Auror. In order to become an Auror, I need go grades in about 75% of my classes. Which means I don't have much time for pranks."

"You're no fun," Fred groans. "Really, mate."

"Live a little," George urges.

I push out a sigh between my teeth. We've had this argument before, the three of us, and we could go on forever if I didn't have things to do at the moment. "Yeah, talk to the Ministry."

"We might just do that," they decide simultaneously, and almost immediately they start chattering quietly to each other about ideas to wreak havoc on the government.

"I worry about the two of you." I sigh. "A _lot._ But, hey, listen for a moment."

They both look up at me with daggers in their eyes. "What?"

"You're going to like this," I declare smugly.

"Did Filch get fired?"

"Did you get your broom back?"

"Did Malfoy get eaten by the giant squid?"

"Did Dumbledore and McGonagall finally profess their love for each other?"

George and I both snap our heads around to look at Fred. "What?"

"I swear they have a thing for each other!" he insists.

"I think he's old enough to be her father," I point out once I've stopped shuddering at the mental images that invokes and the color has returned to George's face.

George looks at me thoughtfully. "Wasn't he teaching when she was a kid?"

I shrug. "Never asked."

George ponders that for a moment more before blinking. "Okay, disturbing mental images aside, what treasures have you brought us?"

"Slug slime," I prompt. "Ever used it?"

"For pranking?" Fred rubs his chin in a mock-thoughtful pose. "Hm, once or twice."

"Have you ever used it as a _glue_?" I question again. "I have it on good faith that it can be used as a glue."

George looks hopeful, but he narrows his eyes at me. "Where did you get this information?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that." I deadpan. "But it wasn't a snake."

They both stare at me for another unsettling moment before looking at each other and nodding. "Alright, let's do it. What did you have in mind?"

I let a little bit of the tension out of my shoulders as I grin. "Well, if we can get into the Slytherin showers, glue becomes endlessly useful."

The twins' faces light up as they catch on. "We could stick their hair to so much-"

"And don't mention the possibilities with soap-"

"And Malfoy-"

"-covered in something embarrassing-"

They cut themselves off, looking at each other and holding one of those silent mental conversations siblings – twins, really – can have before they look back at me. "Can we keep you?"

"Consultant…" I sigh good-naturedly, watching as they nodded and scrambled towards the small potions set that was set up in the corner.

I watch them for a second before deciding that this might take a while and finding a perch on the table they previously occupied; after making sure I wasn't sitting in acid, of course.

I pull my Latin dictionary out of my bag and flip to the bookmarked page, marking my last location. So far I only had a few words down: dog ( _canis_ ), black ( _nigrum_ ), lion ( _leo_ ), and heart ( _cor_ ). I had also made myself another schedule, and to be working on partial transformations by the end of school in June, I needed to have this finished by the end of March at the latest, which gave me two months.

I hadn't gotten too far on what the incantation would be, either, although I knew I wanted to include something about the color of my fur, the fact that I was a Gryffindor, and that deep rooted hate of betrayal that I could sense the Animagus-hallucination dog – and, by extension, I – had.

Social problems were partially to blame for my lack of focus. Ron and Hermione still were not talking, even though it had been a moth since Christmas, and while Harry and I were both still upset over the loss of our Firebolts, at least I talked to her and Harry avoided conflict.

Sometimes I honestly wasn't sure how Ron and Hermione were friends right now, let alone for the past three years. I mean, yes, of course I remember the ten-foot mountain troll that broke in on our first Halloween at Hogwarts, and sure, that would seal almost anyone into being friends, but given how often the bookworm and the redhead argue, you could've had me fooled.

And if those two going at it every five minutes (and not in the good way) wasn't enough, most of the school still hated me. Malfoy had become an incessant pest, although I was used to him. The main problem was Fay Dunbar and the rest of the girls in the dorm that weren't Hermione.

I'll admit that they were beginning to get on my last nerve with their comments about traitors every single time they saw my face or knew I was in earshot, but I could deal with it. I was strong enough to deal with it. And the teacher had enough on their plates; namely, making sure my father didn't get in the castle.

So I would leave them alone to deal with the elder Black while I sorted out my fairly petty mean-girl problems on my own.

I would not be held responsible if, by June, one of them got punched. Or possibly worse.

"What'cha reading, Blackie?"

"Don't call me that," I snap instinctively as I turn to face Fred, shoving the dictionary back in my bag. "And homework."

" _Homework_?" Fred gasps. "You defaced Fred and George's Awesome Lair of Master Pranking with _homework_?"

I give our surroundings a dry look and raise an eyebrow. "We're in the kitchens, if you haven't noticed. I've done homework in here before."

"Not while we're in the room, you haven't?"

"Oh, I _forgot_ ," I scoff, "I need to grace Your Majesties with my purest of attentions." Fred rolls his eyes as I hop off the table, grabbing my bag. "I needed to be heading back anyways. Send word when that," I wave a hand at the potion, "is done, yeah?"

"Of course we will, Blackie-"

"-our dear apprentice."

I groan loudly as I clamber back through the portrait hall and into the corridor.

Along the way back to the Gryffindor tower, I stop on one of the bridges and give myself a moment.

The moon was almost full, I noticed, and would probably be so in a few days.

 _Note to self: expect Snape by the end of the week._

The castle was mainly quiet, the sky was breathtaking tonight, and for once, I could let go.

Not literally – I was currently about fifteen and a half meters off the ground. Not letting go anytime soon.

But mentally. For a small moment, I could forget my manic father, the girls in the dorm, my ankle monitoring cuff, and my frustrations with my progress, or lack thereof, in the Animagus transformation.

Here, I could almost achieve the level of peace I had back before September fifth, my birthday – when I was Allison Lily Potter. Except now I wasn't being lied to, I wasn't being told anything by anyone, and I could simply be Orissa Andromeda Black until the sun came up and it started all over again.

I had a feeling it could only get worse before it _might_ get better.

* * *

 **Hi! Guess what?**

 **I'm not dead! Ta-da!**

 **But my muse had to be brought back to life, she wandered over to my newest Avengers fanfic for a while. I don't have an update schedule for this story, so I'll update it when I – and, more importantly, muse – feel like it.**

 **Hope you liked this, please review!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Please review! Review or I'll have Crookshanks and the "mass murderer' hunt you down.**

* * *

One of the benefits of having the boundaries of my cuff extended to the grounds of the castle, besides visiting Hagrid every so often, was that I could visit the lake. Not to swim, mind you, because it was mid-February (and the lake was cold in _June_ ), but I liked just sitting near the lake and either people-watching, squid-watching, or reading.

Which was what I was doing now: I had a battered copy of _The Updated Counter-Curse Handbook_ in my lap and a light coat draped around my shoulders to chase away the minimal hold winter still held.

I was content…until my book ended up in the water, almost taking me with it, after someone behind me shouts " _Filipendo!_ " followed by "Oh, sorry, didn't see you there… _traitor_."

I close my eyes and mentally recite all of the Latin words I knew in an attempt to collect myself. Once I've reached _nox_ , or 'night', I pick myself up off the ground and turn to face the 'Slytherin Prince'.

"Aren't you going to get that? You should feel right at home with the pond scum," he sneers.

I put on my most innocent expression. "But wouldn't that be _you_ , Malfoy? And, to answer your question, no, I'm afraid I forgot my bathing suit. But I'm sure that when Madam Pince asks _why_ her 17th century book took a bath, I'll be more than happy to tell her the exact truth." I smirk at Malfoy's paler-than-usual face as I add in that last part. Irma Pince was the library's fierce protector, and you _did not_ mess with her books – ever – unless you wanted either detentions until you graduated or serious emotional pain inflicted upon yourself.

"Now," I clear my throat, "what was it that you wanted?"

"Someone's cranky," he snarls. "You didn't get anything for Valentine's Day, did you? After all, who would want _you_ as their Valentine?"

"I could ask you the same," I retort. "Now, if we're done here, I need to go rescue a book."

I don't wait for him to reply before I turn on my heel and begin towards the lake, shuffling through all the spells that could help here.

"Maybe you got one from _Daddy_ ," Malfoy calls to my back, and I freeze mid-step. "He's sick enough to do that, maybe-"

I let out a long exhale and slowly turn to face the blonde boy. "What was that, Malfoy?"

"Did you hear me? Or are you daft? I _said_ , your father's definitely insane enough to send you a valentine, since nobody else will. Who would want to?"

I grit my teeth as I feel my blood begin to boil, but before I can move there's a hand on the back of my neck and a voice near my ear. "Don't."

I blink slowly and turn my head to see Harry's green eyes and Hermione's brown ones.

"Don't do it, 'Rissa," Hermione pleads again. "He's not worth it. Come on, please?"

I look back at Malfoy and his two cronies before nodding and allowing myself to be led a few feet away where Ron was waiting. "I suppose I should thank you," I sigh.

"We didn't want _you_ in Azkaban for murder too," Hermione explains. "Don't become your father, Ori."

I snort. "I wouldn't _murder_ Malfoy…"

"Oh. Good."

"…just maim him," I finish cheerfully. "And apparently, according to the Ministry, I'm 'emotionally unstable' at the moment," I use finger quotes liberally, "so no court _anywhere_ would convict me."

Harry gives me an odd look. "Oh, I don't think it's just the Ministry that thinks you're off your rocker."

I just give him a cheeky grin.

"You know, it's a good thing you didn't take a swing at Malfoy," Ron comments. "I mean, I would have enjoyed watching that, but I don't want you in detention right now."

I squint at him. "Why not? I would most likely just end up in McGonagall's class and I ace that class, so I don't know what you're so worried about."

Ron says nothing instead just handing something to me before I can see what it is, but the smell of broom oil and hazel soon reaches my nose.

"My broom!" I exclaim, giving it a careful once-over. "They gave it back?"

"Yep," Harry grins smugly. "Not a curse, jinx, or hex in sight. I _told_ you there wouldn't be, Hermione."

I glance at my god brother. "There could have been, though. Hermione's not wrong."

"He's your father, Ori," Ron argues. "He wouldn't have hurt you."

I straighten up and lay my broom across my shoulder. "He probably doesn't even remember me, Ron." I sigh. "I was fifteen months old when he got sent to Azkaban, and for the past twelve years he's gradually been going insane."

"And even if Black wouldn't hurt Ori," Hermione adds, "there's always Harry we have to think about."

Ron shrugs amiably. I glance between him and Hermione. "You two made up, then?"

"I suppose," Ron murmurs. "I mean, they didn't _actually_ strip the brooms…"

I roll my eyes. "Whatever you say, Ronald. Come on, last one to the pitch is a rotten doxy egg!" I shout before taking off at full speed (on foot. Not mounted on the broom, I'm not _cruel._ Just annoying.)

"I didn't even know we were racing!" Harry whines behind me, but I just cackle and run faster.

I skid to a stop once we reach the Quidditch pitch, giggling as Harry and Ron don't stop in time and slam into the wall while Hermione walks up, cool and collected, behind them. "Boys," she sighs.

I nod and head over to the locker rooms, shedding my tie and loosening my shirt slightly to allow for more movement before I grab a spare set of Chaser's gloves and sit down to check my broom.

I had figured out what the hazel meant over Harry's birch twigs: my broom had more precision in turning, which was good for a Chaser, but Harry's broom had more power on acceleration, which held optimal effect for a Seeker.

"Are you going to sit there all day?" Harry asks from the doorway, "Or are we going to fly?"

I roll my eyes and finish fastening my gloves. "Let's go test these babies, shall we?"

He gives me a giddy look and mounts his broom as I do. "Ladies first?"

"Sure," I snigger, "go ahead."

He gives me a mock hurt look before kicking off and zooming out onto the pitch with a whoop of glee. "Ori! Come _on_!"

"I'm coming!" I shout as I make sure I'm balanced, what with being a month or two out of practice. "Don't get your knickers in a twist!"

I push off the ground with the gentlest of kicks, and then I'm up in the air again, adrenaline coursing through my veins and making my heart race. The broom was a dream; good enough that (once I got over the fact that he might have been trying to kill me originally) my father might not be all that bad.

I said _might_.

But anyways, the broom was amazing: I had every ounce of control of what it did, it responded to feather-light touches, and I could turn on less than a dime, skyrocket so fast I was a blur, make heart-stopping dives, and come to a full stop in a matter of seconds.

"Ori, your father gives the best gifts!" Harry pants as he pulls up next to me.

I give him a suspicious look. "You despised him this morning."

"I'm not saying I like _him_ ," he points out. "Just his gifts."

I shake my head in exasperation. "He's your godfather," I mumble as I swoop down to grab the practice Snitch and stuffed Quaffle Harry and I, respectively, had received for Christmas and almost immediately release the smaller ball, watching briefly as Harry zips off in pursuit, before holding out the stuffed Quaffle and casting a Knockback Jinx, which sent it hurling across the pitch.

I quickly chase after it, catching up in no time even though I gave the ball a good head start. I catch it with ease, tearing back towards the side of the pitch I started on, braking easily and readying my throw. "She shoots…" I fling it towards the center goalpost, "She scores! Yes! And the crowd goes _wild_ …"

"Egotistical!" Harry shouts across the pitch.

"Arrogant!" I retort, just as loud, as I quickly dive to catch the Quaffle just before it hits the ground, slowed down thanks to a levitating charm Hermione had helpfully placed on it.

I chase it back and forth for a while, putting my broom through its paces – turning, braking, accelerating, doing a backflip (that was _awesome_ ) and then repeating it all.

I come to a stop in the middle of the pitch, sporting a bemused grin. "Harry-"

"LOOK OUT!"

I'll admit that I flattened down and hugged my broom handle for dear life; I definitely did _not_ scream like I was five. Nope. Never.

Harry – I assume it was him that issued the warning – flew so close to my back that I could feel his broom's twigs brush my side...too close, apparently, because something hits the left side of my ribs and my left hip hard, throwing me completely off balance and sending me spinning wildly, then I'm airborne-

And then it all stops. I'm suddenly very still, there's pain in my left side (manageable pain, thank Merlin) and I'm staring up at the sky with my legs tangled into something.

"Ori?" I hear Harry shout. "Orissa?!"

"I'm fine!" I call back. "Although...I will be having _words_ with you, sooner than later, about your _bloody flying skills_!"

His grimace is almost audible. "Okay. But do you need help? And where are you?"

"No, and I don't know, I had my eyes closed." I fall quiet and begin to absorb my surroundings. I'm entangled in some sort of foliage – thankfully it doesn't seem to be moving in any way, shape, or form, meaning that it most likely was not a plant that was liable to kill me.

Because those are always so _fun_.

Beyond that, I couldn't care less about the type, honestly, although I'm almost certain that Neville would not only know what type of plant I was in, but be extremely knowledgeable about it and be able to give me it's Latin classification and who its parents were three or four generations back.

All I cared about at the moment was getting out of this shrub whose top half I had just crushed. I squirm for a bit until I've maneuvered by upper body free from the branches and then start on freeing my legs, twisting my legs and kicking, mentally thanks whatever deity was out there that I crashed in mid-February, because had I been wearing shorts my legs would have been sliced to ribbons.

I eventually get my legs free, only to fall again, this time _out_ of the shrub.

 _I must have pissed off Mother Nature in a past life or something,_ a resigned little voice sighs in my head as I peel myself off the ground.

And find myself face-to-face with a big, black dog.

I yelp and quickly scoot backwards, one of my hands darting for my wand which, thankfully, had not been broken in the fall.

 _Grim!_ a part of my mind shouts – the emotional, completely irrational part.

 _No, don't be stupid_ , I mentally scoff, _it's probably one of Hagrid's._

I force my heart, which was currently lodged in my throat, to slow back down as I relax my death grip on my wand just slightly, keeping my focus on the black dog in front of me.

The dog was big – it looked like he might come up to hip level at the shoulder on me, should we have both been standing up. He looked slightly like my Animagus form, but there were big differences: the dog – something convinced me it as a 'he' – was lanky, with thin, long limbs, where my dog had been shorter, stockier, and a bit more muscled; mainly just generally healthier. I could see this dog's ribs, and his wiry black coat was dirty and matted.

I tentatively reach out a hand, palm up and unthreatening. "Hey there, buddy…"

Of course, Harry and his contemptible timing pick that moment to show up. "Orissa?"

I bite my tongue and tear my eyes away from the dog in order to glance up at him. "How can I help you?"

"You were taking a while!" he protests at my dry tone. "I was worried."

"I'm fine," I sigh, getting up and picking dirt, twigs, and leaves out of my hair and off my robes. "See?"

I let Harry inspect me for himself as I look over my shoulder towards the mysterious dog - or rather, where it was. There's nothing there except for a slightly flattened patch of grass where it had sat.

"Ori?" I turn my head back towards Harry. "Who were you talking to earlier?"

I shake my head, feeling the overwhelming need to keep the dog's existence a secret. I didn't know why; if it was only one of Hagrid's pets, like I believed, why not tell the truth?

"Don't worry about it," I reply after a moment, realizing Harry was still waiting for an answer. "We should probably get back." I glance at the sky. "It's getting dark."

He nods and hands me my broom, which I assume I had let go of sometime during my impromptu crash course.

We make our way back to the castle, idly debating whether or not Oliver Wood's gone mad in preparation for Gryffindor's upcoming match against Ravenclaw.

* * *

By the time the sky has faded to a starlit inky black, the energy Gryffindor tower in humming with a quiet peace – for once, no one was rushing anywhere, no one was freaking out over exams, and everyone was simply feeling too tranquil on a lazy evening with no classes tomorrow to do anything high octane.

In the Common Room, Seamus, Neville, and Dean were holding a chess tournament at one of the tables, Harry was split between writing an essay and watching the aforementioned tournament, Ron was busy up in the dorms, Hermione was at another table, carefully inspecting _The Updated Counter-Curse Handbook_ – which she had rescued from the lake with a levitating spell and cleaned with a few _Scourgify_ – for any permanent damage, and I was currently bent over a Divination textbook, trying to find out what in the name of Merlin's mother tarot cards had to do with the alignment of the stars, and what _that_ had to do with my social life.

"HERMIONE!"

I jump up, almost out of my seat, slamming my book shut and setting it down. "Ron?"

The second youngest Weasley comes thundering down the stairs, his face red with an expression I can recognize easily after thirteen years of seeing it on Vernon Dursley's face – rage. Pure rage.

Ron makes another strangled sound. "HERMIONE!"

Hermione looks up, eyes wide with a stunned look on her face, and I note that she actually looks quite terrified of Ron. I subtly grab my wand and hide it behind my back, a spell on my lips just in case I needed to stun someone, because that was _totally_ how I wanted to end my night.

"LOOK!" Ron howls as he charges straight at Hermione, and I notice that he was dragging his bed sheet with him. "LOOK AT WHAT HE DID!"

I bite my cheek as I move so that I'm directly facing Ron and the table that Hermione was situated at.

"Who are you talking about?" Harry demands.

"SCABBERS!" Ron screams, attracting the attention of everyone who wasn't already staring. "HE'S GONE! LOOK!"

He shakes the bedsheet in Hermione's face, and I squint at the red stains I can see on it.

 _Please let that be ketchup and not what I think it is_ , I silently beg, _please let that be ketchup. Or tomato sauce._

Oh, who am I kidding – our luck is abysmal, there's no way that the stains are anything but-

"BLOOD!" Ron roars, confirming my suspicions. "SCABBERS IS GONE! AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT I FOUND ON THE FLOOR?!"

"N – No?" Hermione whimpers.

Ron slams a hand down on the textbook that Hermione had been looking at. I slide closer so that I'm looking over Harry's shoulder, giving myself a good view of what he had been carrying.

Long, ginger cat hairs.

 _Oh, bloody_ _ **hell**_.


	28. Chapter 28

I couldn't sleep the night of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match, so for once, I was awake before most of my housemates; minus Hermione, who was naturally an early riser, and Oliver, who was hard pressed to sleep right now, between N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch.

I sigh – for the fifteenth time in the last half hour – and continue to push my eggs around my plate with my fork.

Hermione, across from me, looks up from her book on Wizarding Law. "You need to eat _something_ , Ori."

"I _can't_ ," I whine. "I'm nervous!"

"Yes, I know, you've told me so about fifty times," Hermione huffs. She reaches over and drops a slice of toast on my plate. "Just try and eat, please."

I roll my eyes at her but begin to nibble at my toast anyways.

"I don't know why you're so nervous," Hermione continues, "it's just another game. And besides, you've got the best broom in the business…or so you say."

I swallow a bite of toast before replying. "Hermione, keep in mind that I have played in _one_ game so far – the Hufflepuff one in October. I lost that one. Because of the Dementors, sure," I add, seeing her about to protest, "but we still lost. And the Dementors haven't left."

"But you've been working on your Patronus, right?" Hermione asks, a piece of sausage halfway to her mouth. "You should be fine."

"My Patronus is a cloud. With a foot. _Maybe_ a back. Not at all corporeal."

"You'll be _fine_ ," Hermione tells me exasperatedly. "Trust me."

I slump slightly but nod, taking a bite of sausage.

Students were beginning to enter the Great Hall, chattering among themselves. Among these were all of the year three Gryffindor boys, acting like a tight bubble around Harry and, by extension, his Firebolt. I had my own broom already in the locker room, under extensive locking charms.

Ron brushes breezily past us, a prickly air about him, and I sigh. Ron had been insufferable for the past two weeks or so – acting like losing Scabbers (whom he hadn't truly liked) was a great tragedy and that Crookshanks was some sort of cat-assassin out to hunt _specifically_ his rat.

Personally, although I didn't like Crookshanks too much (which made more sense now; I was a dog at heart) and the cat had hated me at the beginning of the year, I couldn't find fault in a cat killing a rat, even if the rat had been in the Weasley family for twelve years - the poor thing was probably just put out of his misery, honestly.

And that was another thing - how had Scabbers lived this long? As far as I could tell, he was just a garden rat, and I remembered the Diagon Alley pet shop lady telling us that those only live for about a fourth of that time.

"Ori?" I'm drawn out of my headspace by Hermione giving me a pointed look. "You've stopped eating."

I sigh and spear a piece of sausage with my fork, pointedly keeping eye contact with Hermione as I eat it.

And then I'm forced to gag as I notice the rancid smell that is wafting around the hall. I quickly slip my wand out of my pocket and perform a bubble-head charm around my head, keeping in the breathable air.

"Do you like it?" a voice asks. "We used your idea."

I turn around to see Fred and George standing behind me, similar bubbles covering their heads.

"What exactly am I looking at here?" I ask them, voice slightly muffled by the charm.

Fred (I think) points at something over my shoulder, and I follow his hand and blink a few times to make sure I'm _really_ seeing this before doubling over in laughter.

The Ravenclaws, Slytherins, and Hufflepuffs are all covered in something that looks like pudding, smells like dragon dung, and I'd imagine doesn't feel very good. It doesn't look like it's coming off, either.

"We used your slug slime idea," George explains as I fight to compose myself again. "Thank you for that, by the way."

Hermione sniffs at us disapprovingly. "Was this really necessary?"

I nod enthusiastically before softening slightly. "Look at it this way, 'Mione. I'm not a nervous wreck anymore."

She looks at me with an unreadable expression for a moment before simply shaking her head and returning to her book.

I shrug and return to the twins. "This was a wonderful display of mischief, but - uh oh."

Fred arches an eyebrow. "What?"

I point behind them, where McGonagall was approaching like a storm front, robes billowing out behind her. "Oh, she looks _mad._ Well, that's my cue. Ta-ta!" I sing, quickly swinging my legs over the bench and making a run for it, completely ignoring their protests behind me.

I arrive at the locker rooms about five minutes later, quickly ducking into the girl's bathroom to change into the scarlet Quidditch robes the team wore, slipping my wand into my boot, just in case.

After I'm finished gearing up, I find a seat on one of the benches and flip open one of the many rulebooks that were strewn across the room.

Oliver approaches me with about five minutes until kickoff, handing me my Firebolt with an almost reverent look on his face. "Finally reading up on the rules, are we? You'd do well not go out of your way to break them."

"We all know I'm liable to break every single one of those," I tell him wryly, closing the book and moving it off my lap, replacing it with my broom.

He obviously ignores my comment. "Have you got the Dementor thing sorted out, then? I don't want you going down again."

"Aw, you do care!" I drawl with a cheeky grin. The Keeper just stares at me patiently, and I sigh in concession. "Don't worry about it."

That was at least part of the truth - Oliver Wood did not need to worry about my Patronus; I, on the other hand, did. I needed to worry quite a bit: my Patronus was a smoky white cloud, and, like I had told Hermione, it had maybe a foot or two, possibly the outline of a back, and was miles from corporeal. I didn't know if it would be enough to hold off Dementors if they did show up, but that was my problem and mine alone.

So, when Wood gives me an indecisive look, I give him my biggest, most charming smile. "Seriously, don't get your panties in a twist. I'll be fine."

He nods, albeit hesitantly, and moves to the front of the room to begin his usual spiel about how we could win this, we had to win this, and we had an awesome team, yadda, yadda, yadda. Except with a tad more desperation this year, because if we didn't win this match, we wouldn't go on to win the Cup, and this was Oliver's last year.

(Personally, I'm always a fan of the "Get the Snitch, Harry, or die trying," bit, although I'd rather Harry take that with a grain of salt.)

Eventually he winds down into a tense silence, a pinched look on his face as we walk onto the pitch.

"And here's the Gryffindor team with Potter, Spinnet, Johnson, Black, Weasley, Weasley, and Captain Oliver Wood! The Gryffindors are packing some serious heat this year, folks - they have not one but two Firebolts! The Firebolt is an amazing broom, really, it can accelerate past-"

"Jordan!"

"Right, sorry Professor. And here comes Madam Hooch."

The flying instructor/referee emerges onto the field, stopping just in front of the chest containing the equipment. She gives her usual speech about fair play and a clean game, the usual, and then instructs Oliver and Roger Davies to shake hands before giving a short puff of her whistle. "Mount your brooms!"

I swing my leg over, wrapping my hands around the broom handle in front of me. The Firebolt instantly feels natural under the leather of my gloves, and I have to mentally remind myself that I can't lift off yet as my blood starts rushing and my heart thumps against my ribs.

Madam Hooch reaches down to unlock the crate, letting the Snitch out and letting it disappear before taking out the Quaffle. "In three, two, one…" she tosses the Quaffle up, my eyes tracking it's every move. "Begin!"

I'm up before anybody else, of course (except for Harry) and I snatch the Quaffle out of midair, pulling it close to my body and rolling over and over at a dizzying speed as Davies and the other two Chasers struggle keep up.

"And they're off! Gryffindor in possession, Black has them on a leash! Her broom is spectacular, truly amazing; the Firebolt has an auto-brake charm, it can't be beat-"

"Jordan!" I hear McGonagall interrupt sharply. "Is this a Firebolt commercial or a Quidditch game?"

"Sorry, Professor, sorry."

"Black!" I look over to see Angelina on my right, keeping pace even as I lead all three other Chasers on a rollercoaster ride around the pitch. "Pass it here!"

I nod and, recognizing what she was doing, toss the Quaffle in a smooth underhand move before deliberately slowing and maneuvering myself into her slipstream, a sharp right sending me slamming into Chaser Burrow and then a left into Chaser Stretton, Davies currently busy avoiding Fred and George's attempts to hit him.

Once I've cleared Angelina's tail, I fall slightly to her left while Alicia comes up to just behind her right side, the three of us falling into a perfect Hawkshead Attack formation.

"Johnson has the Quaffle now - look at that spectacular flying! They're really cutting across the pitch now, and look how Black's Firebolt handles! The Firebolt has a massive turning radius-"

"Jordan!"

"Okay, sorry. They're approaching the goal posts now, Black and Spinnet are falling back, can Johnson make the shot? She's coming around, she shoots, annndddd….YES! Page can't save it! Gryffindor scores, ten-zero!"

I give a whoop and a thumbs up before darting off to tail Stretton, who was now in possession of the Quaffle.

I track him with the utmost ease, not even reaching half speed as I persistently follow him around prepared to shoot ahead and steal the Quaffle away if he got too close to the Gryffindor goal posts.

I don't the chance to, however, because the next thing I know there's a Bludger slamming into the tail of my broom, ripping me off course and sending me careening into George, who easily catches me, but our brooms become a tangled mess.

"Hi," I pant. "Nice catch."

"Hi yourself," he replies in a bemused tone, "and thanks,"

We quickly begin to untangle our broom tails, and I allow myself to tune back into the commentary for a moment.

"Foul! Foul!" Lee was shouting. "Oh - wait - no, alright, no, that is not a foul, folks, not a foul...Chang's tailing Potter now, poor girl doesn't stand a chance - her Comet is no match for the Firebolt. The Firebolt's precision acceleration is really noticeable in-"

"JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!"

"Right, Stretton is approaching the goals...he shoots - come on Wood, come on, come _on_...ohhh, he cannot save it! Ravenclaw scores, game is tied at ten-ten."

I huff angrily as I finally separate my broom and George's, giving the Beater a two-fingered salute before going to assist Alicia, who was zig-zagging randomly to try and shake off Davies.

.

Thirty minutes later, Harry's still leading Cho around the pitch on a tight leash, Angelina and I are locked in a struggle with Davies and Burrow, and the score is eighty-thirty, Gryffindor.

I give a low growl as I move again to keep from slamming into the wall. The four of us were in a precarious formation: Davies in the front with the Quaffle, me just behind him, Angelina crammed between him and the wall, and Burrow on my right side, the wall on my left.

I could not get around Davies, no matter how hard or long I tried. Going down, under, and around Burrow to get to his unprotected side hadn't worked, because Burrow just shot forward the block my way.

An idea comes to me, and I move to the left slightly, making the twigs of my broom brush the wall, and tap Angelina on the back to signal to her that I was about to move and to be ready.

And then my broom drops about three feet at nearly 150 miles per hour, or full speed. I then shoot to the front of the formation, coming up without warning and causing Davies to swerve sharply while I slip the Quaffle away, tucking it under one arm and speeding towards the Ravenclaw goals.

Grant Page didn't stand a chance, and the Quaffle effortlessly made it through the left hoop, bringing the score up to ninety-thirty.

Just as the score is updated, there's a commotion about halfway down the pitch, and I look over to see Cho let out an exclamation of fear and fly away from where three black hooded figures were approaching Harry.

I swear and turn my broom around, drawing my wand and queuing up the memory of finding my Animagus form, watching out of the corner of my eye as Harry draws his own wand.

Two shouts of " _Expecto Patronum!"_ ring out simultaneously, and two massive silver masses emerge. I don't have time to watch any more, though, because Harry shouts "Ori, duck!"

I roll so that I'm hanging upside down on my broom just as Harry zips past me and his hand grabs something - most likely the Snitch - out of the air. The whistle sounds, and a cheer goes up on the Gryffindor side.

"Potter has caught the Snitch!" Lee cries. "That's it, game over! Gryffindor wins, 240-30!"

I pump my fist in the air before angling my broom downward and heading for the ground. Once I'm on the ground, I accept my praise from Alicia and Angelina, watching in amusement as Harry is surrounded by a full-on mob of fans.

As Seeker (which was _the_ pivotal position) and, more importantly, the Boy-Who-Lived, I knew Harry would always get the limelight, whether he wanted it or not. I didn't mind one bit - it kept me from getting mobbed, and that is one of the things I will never miss from my stint as Allison Potter.

Someone clears their throat behind me, and I whirl around to face Professor Lupin. "That was a brilliant Patronus," he compliments.

The euphoric grin slides off my face as I remember that. "That was...odd. Didn't Dumbledore say he was going to regulate the Dementors?"

"Ah…" Lupin shifts from foot to foot uneasily. "Those weren't Dementors."

I frown and begin to ask for an explanation, but the DADA professor just points towards the edge of the field.

There, lying tangled in a heap of limbs and black robes, were Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint, Slytherin team captain.

"You gave them quite the scare," Lupin admits, a slightly amused look on his face.

I look between him and the Slytherin "Dementors" a few times before bursting into a fit of giggles.

Between the prank this morning, winning the game, and getting to unintentionally scare the living daylights out of Malfoy and his lackeys, I was on top of the world today, and I didn't feel like anything was capable of bringing me down.

.

 **Please review! I need reviews like Hermione needs books!**


	29. Chapter 29

I really should have learned by now, after thirteen years of being by Harry Potter's side, that everything goes wrong just when you feel like you could rule the world.

I think there's a Muggle saying out there about pride coming before a fall, but in my case the happiness produced by an amazing Quidditch win and a successful Patronus was stamped out by my possibly criminally insane, mass-murderer Azkaban escapee of a father once again breaking into my school.

I was getting a bit fed up.

This time, thankfully, he hadn't gotten to the dorms this time, just to the Fat Lady, who refused him entrance and frustrated him almost to the point of slashing her. He didn't, but the fact that he had a knife at all made everyone uneasy.

Security had been raised again, with security trolls now roaming the hallways and every single portrait – all 130 of them, I heard Lupin tell McGonagall – to keep on the lookout for a man matching the description of Sirius Black.

Students had also, once again, been relocated to the Great Hall as a safety precaution. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had set up our sleeping bags in a corner of the massive room; this created quite a tense situation because, on top of everything else, Ron and Hermione still refused to talk to each other.

I was just settled in my sleeping bag, stomach down and propped on my elbows, when Dumbledore walked in, followed closely by McGonagall and Percy, who was Head Boy.

"This can't be a coincidence, Headmaster," I hear Percy say. "She's got to have something to do with this…twice in one year…"

I freeze and be sure to keep my eyes on a spot on the floor in front of me.

"Now, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore returns in a placating tone, "let's not jump to conclusions. Miss Black might not be…"

 _Yeah, they're definitely talking about me_. I shake my head and tune out the rest of a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear in the first place.

 _It's just Percy,_ a small voice argues as I flip over onto my back, _Percy the Prat, Humongous Bighead, King Stick-In-The-Mud, Scholar Weasley, Percy the Prefect…why does it matter what he thinks?_

I shake my head again, harder this time, and slide down into my sleeping bag as Dumbledore leaves, extinguishing the torches that lit the hall as he did so.

"'Rissa," Hermione murmurs after a few moments of lying there in the dark, "would you please tell Ronald that he-"

"Tell him yourself," I snap viciously, ducking into my sleeping bag but not before I could glimpse the wounded expression on her face.

I didn't care, not tonight.

I didn't care about some stupid little feud that shouldn't have continued this far. I didn't care that I was probably going to be hounded for an explanation, nor was I worried about the rumors that would once again surface.

Because there was no doubt that both of those things would happen - Scabbers and Sirius Black were both touchy topics for my little circle of friends. And anytime anyone mentioned my father, rumors spread like wildfire.

But right now I could care less, because currently I was lying on the cold ground instead on my nice warm bed in the dorm, there was an almost palpable feeling of tension in the castle, and I was sick and tired of everything surrounding the elder Black.

I was bloody pissed at my father, too. Why did he have to break in when I was feeling the happiest I'd been since September? I was happy, truly happy, and then life had to throw a huge, flashing sign in my face that screamed _'Look! You aren't normal! Your father is a mass-murderer!'_

Figures, right?

And I wonder if he even knew the effect his little "visits" had on me - I wonder if he realized the whispers that would follow me around tomorrow. I wonder if he knew about the ankle cuff and me being under the Ministry's microscope since October.

Either he truly didn't know, or he did know and didn't care; the former would make him a good father, and the latter, a good Death Eater.

At any rate, I was mad.

I sigh and open my eyes back up, sleep apparently nowhere to be found. And I couldn't lie here in the dark all night, because I would probably drown in my own thoughts.

That left me with one option: get up.

I sigh and sit up, quietly squirming out of the sleeping bag. I quickly grab my wand and cast a Silencing Charm on my shoes before standing up and beginning to carefully make my way towards the doors.

"Ori?" Harry looks up as I pass him, voice husky with sleep. "W're y'goin'?"

I pause for a moment before bending down to brush my fingers through his hair. "Don't worry about it, I'll be fine. Go back to sleep."

He just blinks at me once and then twice before humming something unintelligible and burrowing back into his sleeping bag. I crouch there for a moment, waiting for his breathing to even out, before getting up and continuing through the crowds until I get to the doors.

I slip through unnoticed, my mind so occupied on what I was trying to do that the shock of Harry letting me go do something secretive without protest barely registered.

I slip from shadow to shadow until I can't hear the murmur of the Great Hall anymore, then wriggling into a tiny alcove I had found a few weeks earlier, crouching behind a statue whose plaque read _Barnaby the Butterfingered._

I idly wonder what the poor sod had to drop in order to get _that_ title before shoving that stray line of thought aside and grabbing something out of my back pocket and laying it on the ground in front of me, tapping it with my wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The Marauder's Map unfolds with it's usual ripple effect, and I immediately begin looking for a room that suited what I needed to do tonight – big, nothing valuable that couldn't afford to be blown up…

My eyes find the seventh floor, the top floor, where a lot of people simply didn't go because we were all lazy bums who couldn't Apparate.

I figure it's a good a place to start as any, and I quickly erase the map before slipping it back into my pocket. I crawl out from behind the statue, setting a brisk pace towards the nearest staircase, intent on making a quick detour to Gryffindor Tower to grab a few things.

I pause three quarters of the way up a staircase, hidden a few feet from the portrait of the Fat Lady. She didn't look too bad, which was a relief.

I take a deep breath and steel myself before walking confidently into the light.

"Who's there?" the portrait gasps. "Oh, why are you here?"

I jut my lip out and widen my eyes. "Oh, sorry. You see, I have a small problem, madam. I left something in my dorm, is there any chance I could go get it?"

She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. "What did you leave?"

I shuffle my feet nervously and bite my lip. "It's - I - um, it's a stuffed dog. My aunt gave it to me when I was a baby, and she said it belong to _her_ mum...you see, with everything that's been happening, it helps me think of her...I miss them…" I quiver my lip a little and note, with satisfaction, that her features were softening. "So can I get it? _Please_? I'll be quick, promise!"

She nods, "Don't dally, dear," she orders before swinging open and allowing me entrance. I nod and climb through as if I was in a rush.

I grin once I'm safely in the Common Room. The sob story I fed her wasn't entirely a lie - I did have a worn little black stuffed dog in my trunk, but my aunt did _not_ give it to me, of course, (Petunia would've rather died), I did not miss that horse-faced woman at all, and it wasn't what I was going up to get.

Instead, once I reach the third year girl's dorm, I dig through my trunk before pull out four items: a worn book, a roll of parchment, a lump of charcoal a little bigger than the Snitch, and a tiny little knife that came from my Potions kit.

I quickly shove all of these things into a small bag before leaving the dorm again and turning right to enter the boys' dorm, paying no heed to the generally messy and putrid state of the room as I whisk the Invisibility Cloak off Harry's bed.

I head down to the Common Room again, climbing out of the portrait hole and giving the Fat Lady a sheepish wave before melting back into the shadows again; seamlessly, this time, because of the Cloak thrown over my shoulders.

I make it up to the seventh floor in record time, anticipation making my heart flutter.

 _I need a place to practice my Animagus transformation_ , I begin to chant in my head as I make my way through the hallways, _I need a place to practice my Animagus transformation...I need a place to practice my Animagus transformation…_

I turn a corner and stop in my tracks. Just ahead of me, on a wall that I could have _sworn_ was blank a few minutes ago, was an ornately carved wooden door.

I approach it with caution, because with Hogwarts being magical (almost sentient sometimes), you never knew what was going to be behind every single door.

It was like a messed-up Muggle game show.

I nudge the door open cautiously, silently amazed that it doesn't even creak like all the other doors do.

I step inside and let the door close behind me, getting a good look at the room itself.

As far as I could see, it was perfect: a big, open space about the size of two classrooms, with big, cathedral-style windows letting in loads of moonlight, casting an eerily silver glow over the floor. There was no furniture in the room, which was good in case something went wrong.

Not that anything _would_ go wrong. I hoped.

I shrug off the cloak and set it, along with the bag containing the things from my trunk on ground near the door. I take out the piece of charcoal and kneel down, pressing the charcoal to the stone and beginning to draw.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, my arms are streaked black up to my elbows, and there's fine particles of charcoal everywhere, but I've successfully managed to draw out the symbol I needed for the Animagus incantation.

The symbol was a circle that was ten feet in diameter, inside of which was a four-pointed star. At each point of the star, there was a small symbol: at the north point, there was a bird's footprint, to symbolize animals of the air; at the west, a paw print, to symbolize earth animals; at the south, a small silhouette of a dolphin, to symbolize sea creatures; and at the east, a simple spiral, to show that everything was interconnected.

Inside the center of the star was another circle, this one about two feet in diameter, and this was where I was currently standing, with a copy of _From Man to Beast and Back Again: The Complete Animagus Transformation_ in my hand.

I shut the book after making sure I had everything correct, levitating back over to my bag and then tossing my wand after it. I adjust my stance so that I'm facing north before pulling the scroll I had collected earlier out of my sock and the Potions knife out of my pocket and beginning to read.

"I, Orissa Andromeda Black, seek to merge my body with that of another. May my spirit blend with the animal inside my heart, and my body be better in all of the ways that it can."

I take the knife and use it to prick the palm of my right hand, letting one drop of blood fall to the north, one to the south, one to the east, and one to the west, watching as the blood begins to bubble and sizzle on the ground.

I pause as there's a blast of air and the sigil suddenly glows a golden color before moving onto the second part of the writing – the incantation I've been working on for months.

" _Ego canis niger tamquam fur in nocte ferro coloris oculos et cor leonis,"_ I recite, my voice echoing slightly in the empty room. " _Sarcinas dilecta est, sed quod omnes odientes me tradet. Astabo sarcinas usque ad finem fortiter, et me animam meam._ "

I pause again as the air around see starts humming and gains a distorted look, kind of like a heat wave.

"May the animal inside me enrich my spirit, mind, magic, and body in all ways possible," I continue, before taking a deep breath for the final line. "I, Orissa Andromeda Black, will my magic to reach out to the magic that surrounds me, both inside and out, and assist me in this transformation. So mote it be!"

As soon as the last word falls from my lips, the circle's golden glow seems to explode, growing to a blinding level; I feel like I'm on fire ( _everything burns_ ) and I briefly catch a whiff of burning charcoal, fire, and copper before a sharp pain shoots through my body and everything goes black.

* * *

 **Dun-dun-duhhhh!**

 **Please tell me what you thought. The Latin was translated using Google Translate, so if it's not right, don't blame me. If anyone wants the English, just ask.**


	30. MAJOR AUTHOR'S NOTE

**Major Author's note! Important!**

 **As of today, it has one year since I started writing my first book,** _ **Iron Beta: Life as Tony Stark's Daughter**_ **. One year.**

 **I would like to give a huge thank-you to every person that's ever reviewed, favorited, or followed any of my stories, because there's actually quite a lot of you and you have** _ **no idea**_ **how much I appreciate all of you.**

 **And now, a quick update.**

 _ **Iron Beta**_ **'verse (canon!Avengers):** _ **Dissension**_ **, the latest story in this verse, is coming along smoothly. I am accepting requests for one shots, please PM me if you have a request. And keep reviewing, following, etc.**

 _ **Saved by the Bell**_ **'verse (teacher AU Avengers): consider this verse on hiatus because my muse for that story died. Sorry for all of you that liked that story, but I am taking requests for other AUs as well. PM me or review with an AU idea.**

 _ **Whispers in the Dark**_ **(canon!Harry Potter): this should be getting updated fairly smoothly. The only problem I have with this is that fact that I am literally getting almost no reviews. Do you guys not like this? What's your stance? PLEASE TELL ME.**

 **If anyone has any questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, or the like, please PM me, review, or email me at ironsparrow99 [at symbol] gmail . com.**

 **Thanks,**

 **IronSparrow99.**


	31. Chapter 30

The first thing I noticed when I came to was that I felt gritty. Sort of like the feeling I got when I was covered in dirt from a particularly dirty Care of Magical Creatures class involving runaway flobberworms.

But that gritty feeling made no sense here, because I couldn't _remember_ a Care of Magical Creatures class, because I could've sworn that was a few days ago, not just last night.

I crack an eye open and take in a breath, immediately sputter and coughing because the air was a black color, clogged with fine particles of a dust of some sort.

 _Charcoal_ , I remind myself, the events of the previous night flooding back all at once, along with a pounding headache.

The break-in.

The Animagus incantation.

The smell of something burning.

A sharp pain before I, apparently, passed out.

 _If this is what a hangover's like, I'm never going to drink_ , I vow as I pick myself up off the floor with a groan because every single muscle in my body hated moving – or doing much of anything, really – at the moment. And to top it all off, I couldn't go to Madam Pomfrey because she would want explanations I couldn't give.

I limp my way over to the small pile where I remembered dropping my stuff, quickly picking up my wand and casting a bubble-head charm followed by a _Scourgify_ to at least get most of the thick black dust off of me, although I wouldn't say no to a long, warm shower.

I repeat the action a couple of times on the room around me, eventually siphoning all the dust away, like a Muggle vacuum cleaner would.

I grab my bag, wincing as I bent over, and sling it over my shoulder, trudging out of the room and in the direction of Gryffindor tower, intent on taking a hot shower and getting some food.

"Ori!"

Unfortunately, Ron, Harry, and Hermione found me first.

"Ori," Hermione gives me a relieved grin. "There you are, we were looking all over for you!"

"Where were you?" Ron asks.

I shrug. "I took a walk."

Harry side-eyes me and sniffs the air. "You smell like something burnt."

I give a noncommittal grunt and shift my weight from foot to foot. "Hey, I'm hungry. Wanna go get some food?"

Hermione frowns and looks thoughtful, but she doesn't say anything besides "Sure, let's go."

The trip to the Great Hall is short, and the hall itself is relatively quiet, it being late on a Saturday morning. I plop down at the Gryffindor table, resolutely ignoring the hushed voices that break out around me.

"People are talking," Ron groans quietly.

"They do little else," I sigh.

"You know, it looks really bad that you disappeared last night," Hermione comments. "Right after your father broke in, too."

I look up at her mid-chew. "'Oo 'an't eeriosly 'ink 'm a 'a-er?"

She gives me condescending look, and I swallow and give her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I said, you can't seriously think I'm the traitor?"

"No," she replies a bit too quickly, and I narrow my eyes at her. "Don't look at me like that. I really don't! But...just think about what _others_ might think."

"What _others_ might think doesn't matter to me," I say stiffly. "You know that."

"Right," she mumbles.

We finish our breakfast quickly and quietly, leaving the hall for the Common Room. I settle in an armchair with my Transfiguration book and some parchment, putting the finishing touches on an eassay that was due the following Monday.

A tapping at the window makes me look up, along with everyone else in the room. An owl was perched on the windowsill.

"I'll get it," I sigh and push myself up and out of the chair, shuffling over to the window and opening it. I untie the note from the owl's leg and open it. "It's from Hagrid."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione all quickly crowd around me. "What's it say?" Harry asks eagerly, making grabby hands for the parchment.

I bat his hand away. "It's from Hagrid."

"Read it!" Ron urges, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

" _Dear Hermione and Orissa,"_ I read,

" _We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts._

 _Execution date to be fixed. Beaky has enjoyed London. I won't forget all the help you gave us._

 _Hagrid."_

I groan. "Darn it, _Malfoy_."

"They can't do this," Harry moans piteously, "they can't do this!"

"They can," Hermione argues shakily, "and they just did."

"But _why_?" Ron asks, staring at the tear-stained note with suspicious eyes. "Anyone who spends time with Buckbeak knows he isn't dangerous."

"But Lucius Malfoy thinks he is," I remind him, "and what Malfoy wants, Malfoy gets. Remember last year?"

Ron grimaces but nods, remembering how Malfoy Sr. had coerced the board of governors into suspending Dumbledore. "Good point. So what now?"

"Well I need to get work on the final appeal," Hermione takes a deep breath to calm herself. "But the Committee's practically in Malfoy's pocket…this is hopeless…"

I open my mouth to object, but Ron beats me to it. "You don't have to do all the work alone, Hermione. I'll…I'll help."

Hermione blinks at him in shock a few times before launching herself at him and wrapping him in a hug. Ron looks frankly quite terrified, like Hermione was a bomb that was going to explode any second.

I roll my eyes at him and reach over to rub her shoulder comfortingly. "It'll be alright, 'Mione. You can do this."

* * *

"Thanks," she sniffs. "Alright. Okay. Now…we just have to see Hagrid."

We did meet up with Hagrid; however, it was after the next day's Care of Magical Creatures lessons instead of after curfew like we usually did because despite the urgency of the situation, even I knew that sneaking around after dark on the same castle grounds as a mass-murderer was bad. Not to mention that the added security (security trolls, people!) made it nearly impossible to sneak anywhere.

Hagrid himself seemed muted, which was odd behavior for the half-giant.

"S'all my fault," he blubbers, "they were just sitting there, and staring, and I kept droppin' me notes and forgetting all those dates you looked up for me, Hermione, Orissa, and Lucius Malfoy said his bit and it was all over…"

"Imagine all of them in their underwear," I suggest. "What?" I defend at all the weird looks. "It worked for me!"

"You were six," Harry points out.

"True," I sigh. "And, plus, isn't Dumbledore there? Do you _want_ to see Dumbledore in his underwear?"

We all consider that for barely a second before shuddering collectively.

I scrunch up my face. "Forget I said anything."

"But Hagrid," Hermione says, getting us back on track, "you still have the final appeal. _Please_ don't give up yet!"

Hagrid shakes his massive head and sobs. "No, no, s'all over, the Committee's in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. I'm jus' gonna go make sure Beaky's last days are his best…"

And with that, he walks back into his hut, closing the door behind him. The thin wooden walls do nothing to muffle his loud sobs, though.

"Look at him blubber!"

We whirl around to face Malfoy (the little one), Crabbe, and Goyle, all of whom had been standing there the entire time, judging by the amused looks on their faces.

"Have you ever seen anything so pathetic?" Malfoy laughs. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!"

I make a move towards Malfoy, but suddenly Hermione's there first.

 _SMACK!_

And she's slapped Malfoy with all her might.

"Don't call Hagrid that, you – you little –"

I lunge forward to grab her wrist as she pulls back for another go at him, because as much as I'd love to see the 'Slytherin Prince' get his butt kicked by a Muggleborn, of all people, I didn't want Hermione expelled.

"Let me _go,_ Ori!" she shrieks.

"You're lucky I don't listen to her," I threaten over her shoulder. "I have half a mind to, you know. This _is_ , after all, entirely your fault."

Ron quickly swipes Hermione's wand before she can pull it one them, and the snakes scurry away like the little cowards they are, leaving the four of us staring murderously after them, Hermione panting heavily.

"You have to beat them in the Quidditch final," Hermione begs, "just on principle. Don't let them win."

I don't think she's just talking about Quidditch anymore.

"We won't," I vow, "we won't."

* * *

 **Thanks a million to the funky she-wolf, ChristiangirlKCU, thatcrazyginger, gcookbeastmode, shadowkat87, and an anonymous Guest for review the last chapter (er, author's note). I'm pretty sure that's the most review I've gotten on a chapter thus far.**

 **Thank you thank you thank you!**

 **Keep reviewing!**


	32. Chapter 31

**Hi! I'm not dead, I promise, just engrossed in my Avengers stories and I lost focus on this.**

 **P.S.: to the anonymous Guest reviewer who asked about my update schedule and to all of those that may be wondering:**

 **I don't** _ **have**_ **an update schedule for this story right now; it all depends on my muse. For instance, I re-watched PoA today, so you get a chapter. Next month I might watch GoF, so you might get a chapter then. I don't know, honestly, but if the slow update speeds bother you, then I'm sorry, but there's really not much I can do.**

 **Bear with me, please.**

* * *

Hermione disappeared.

No, literally, I couldn't find her - she said she had to go to the bathroom and never came back. I never heard any screaming, though, so I just assumed she was fine and playing hooky or something.

Ha, no.

 _I should try that as a joke sometime,_ I muse quietly as Harry, Ron, and I walk back from Charms. I can hear the boys quietly speculating about our absent friend, but the effects of the Cheering Charms we've had put on us are too heavy to care all too deeply.

Except for me, apparently, and I wonder what it says about my character that I can sort of resist Cheering Charms.

 _Oh, Daddy Dearest probably could too,_ a sardonic little voice in my head whispers. _Can't be any cheerful Death Eaters, now can there?_

I forcibly shake my head as we round the corner and stop in front of the portrait hole.

"Password, dears?" the Fat Lady prompts with a giggle.

"Flibbertigibbet," I reply with my most charming smile.

The portrait smiles in return and swings open with a blush. I hop through, some of the tension automatically leaking out of my shoulders.

"Hermione!" I gasp, rushing over to the bushy-haired girl asleep on her Arithmancy book. "'Mione?"

"Oh - Orissa - what?" she blinks up at me, eyes clouded with sleep. "Is it time to go?"

"Yeah, to _Divination_."

 _"_ Wait, I missed Charms!" she wails, a look of astute horror spreading across her face. "We were covering Cheering Charms, too, and Flitwick's been hinting that those would be on the exams, _oh_ -"

"Hermione, Hermione, hey, shush," I kneel by her side and rest a hand on her shoulder. "I'll lend you my notes, and you can apologize to the professor tomorrow."

"You? Taking _notes_?" she teases, and I'm delighted to see a smile brighten her face. "Impossible!"

"Oh, shut it, you," I retort, making a show of rolling my eyes. "I'm trying to be helpful here. Hermione," I sober again and glance at her, "are you okay? I mean, I'm not asking you to talk about your feelings or anything, because Merlin know I wouldn't, but are you alright?"

She looks over at me, and her mouth opens and closes a few times - giving her the impression of a fish - before she shakes her head. "Don't worry about me, 'Rissa. You've got your own problems, with the girls and Sirius and...come on, let's go to Divination, we need the head start."

I nod and, idly reflecting that she'd never answered my question, help her pack up her books and follow her out of the Common Room, Harry and Ron long since have left.

We make it to the North Tower in good time, and I wave to Harry, showing that I'd found the wandering bookworm.

The trapdoor above us opens and the ladder descends, and I wave Hermione up, making sure to show my absolute dread at another _wonderful_ session of hearing how Harry would die and I would turn dark.

"Good afternoon, children," Trelawney greets in her wispy voice. "Please come in and find a seat with a partner and a crystal ball. We find ourselves starting crystal gazing earlier than expected..."

I tune her out as I follow Hermione to a table and settle down, mentally going over the steps of the Animagus transformation as the professor talks.

"Orissa?"

"Sorry, what?" I shake my head and blink at Hermione, who was looking at me expectantly. "What?"

"Crystal ball, Ori," she prompts.

"Right, okay," I lean forward onto my elbows and stare intently into the fog. "So...um...well...ah, there's a thing."

"What?"

"There's gonna be tons of fog tonight," I quip. "I'm staying inside."

She snickers at that, covering her mouth with a hand.

"Really-" I'm cut off my a bloodcurdling wailing to our left, and I look over to see Professor Trelawney clutching her chest with a horror struck expression on her face - _again._

 _"_ The Grim!" she wails loudly. "Oh, my dear boy, no, it's closer than ever-"

I groan and slump in my seat as Hermione makes an unnatural growling sound before interrupting. "No! For goodness sakes, it is _not_ the Grim!"

Trelawney turns her big, insect-like eyes on my friend. "My dear, excuse me if I am wrong, but I am sorry to say that from the very moment you stepped foot in my class, you have never possessed much of the Inner Eye. I do not believe you have what Divination requires."

Silence rules for a moment, and I take the opportunity to glance around us. Half the class looks vaguely approved, the rest of them glaring at Hermione like she's just personally killed their puppies. Lavender and Pavarti are glaring at both her and me, taking her words and my...well, existence, I suppose, as a personal affront.

"Fine!" Hermione snaps, bolting from her seat. "Fine! I give up, I'm leaving. This class was a load of rubbish anyway."

"Take me with you!" I cry, hopping out of my seat so fast that the table topples over, the crystal ball hitting the ground with a loud _thud_.

I bound out of the trap door, sliding down the ladder and catching up with Hermione. "That was brilliant."

"Glad you liked it," she acknowledges with a small smile, but then she turns suspicious. "What did you do?"

"Me?" I gasp in disbelief, but she just turns up the glare. "I toppled a table."

"Ori," she groans.

"What?" I defend. "You're the one that walked out on the class."

She shrugs, and my attention is shifted down as something bumps into my foot. I bend down to catch the loose crystal ball before it rolls down a nearby staircase, because frankly if it was broken I wanted to be the cause.

"Hey, this is just a bit smaller than a Quaffle," I observe, inspecting it carefully. "Reckon I could throw it?"

"I wouldn't," Hermione warns.

"I know _you_ wouldn't," I retort. "We both know _I_ would."

She opens her mouth to warn me again, but at that moment I watch Harry and Ron round a corner and come into view and make a split second decision. "Harry, catch!"

The Gryffindor Seeker, to his credit, only fumbles the ball slightly but doesn't drop it. "Really?"

I give him a cheeky grin. "Really. Who wants to go return that to Trelawney? Not me!"

Ron jumps back like I've burned him and Hermione just shakes her head, silently electing Harry as the scapegoat.

"I hate you," he mutters as he walks away. "I hate you all."

I laugh as he walks away, only partially because I know he's kidding; it was also because I could see a little slice of normal, and I was beginning to think everything might be okay someday.

But rainstorms had to come before rainbows, and I knew this was only the calm before the storm.

Because with a life like this, nothing every stays simple.


	33. Chapter 32

_Previously:_

 _Ori has started to notice Hermione's odd behavior and is getting worried._

 _Hermione and Ori stormed out on a Divination lesson after one-too-many "Grim" sightings._

* * *

I had dog ears.

Bloody _dog ears._ Big, black, ears sticking out of the top of my head – and they were furry, too, and that was _fantastic._

According to the Animagus book, I was actually progressing quite fast – it was only mid-April, two weeks since Easter, and according to the author major extremities weren't supposed to start sprouting until a year from now.

But now I had dog ears, and I couldn't seem to get them to go away. And, oh _joy_ , they seemed to show my emotions too: they perked up when I was excited, drooped when I was, pinned back when I was angry...essentially, they made me transparent.

Which was bad, because if there was one thing I'd learned about the real world, it was that you had to have a thick skin or you'd be sliced to pieces. Which, naturally, was bad.

So, again, this was bad.

This wasn't my first partial transformation, either - I had sprouted random patches of black fur before, and I had turned my right hand into a paw, but _those_ had gone away quickly and I had been careful to practice on weekends, when there were no classes and everyone was too busy to notice me sneaking off to that room on the seventh floor.

But this morning I woke up feeling odd, like I had an itch under my skin that I couldn't see nor scratch. The book didn't mention much on this, but I figured I could slip away before breakfast, let myself sprout some fur, and then return back to human before classes started.

Because normally I could.

But apparently whoever controlled the universe hated me today, because now I had emotionally-transparent ears, no way of removing them, and Potions in ten minutes.

 _Thanks, universe!_

I sigh and turn away from the mirror, beginning to pace at a brisk pace as I mull over my solutions.

 _Hospital Wing?_

 _No, too many questions. Disillusionment Charm?_

 _Haven't learned that one yet. Vanishing Charm?_

A wave of panic washes over me. _These are my_ ears _! I can't just vanish them!_

 _What if I just covered them?_

I blink. It was an oddly simple fix, but just maybe…I turn around, close my eyes, and think about the hood I needed.

An interesting feature of the room, as I had discovered, was that things appeared out of thin air.

…Well, no, they didn't, but I had no idea where they _did_ come from, so that's what I'm going with.

Anyways, as I reopen my eyes, I look down to see my hands wrapped around a fabric hood, visualized from what I remember mages wearing in Dudley's old comic books (oh, the irony...). It's loose and will cover my ears fully, so it fits what I needed almost exactly.

I pull it over my head and make sure it's secure, and then try to wiggle my ears, which is a hard conscious movement because, y'know, human ears don't move.

But the hood doesn't feel constricting, so I let it be as I pack up my stuff and shuffle out of the room.

I manage to make it from the top floor of the castle to the dungeons mostly unseen, and I arrive in front of the Potions classroom with a minute or so to spare.

"Ori?"

I spin around to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione looking at me with slightly bemused, slightly bewildered expressions.

"What's the hood for?" Harry asks.

"Yeah," Ron adds. "You look like something from a storybook."

"I'm trying a new fashion statement," I lie with a half-grin. "What do you think?" I ask, giving a twirl like that made the hood look any better.

"It's…different," Hermione offers. "Definitely different. In an…adventurous…sort of way."

I give her a dry look and one of my ears twitch, but no one gives any indication that they saw anything.

Our attention is quickly diverted by the dungeon door sweeping open and a familiar, sardonic, monotone voice ordering "Come in."

I shuffle in with the rest of the class and take a seat next to Hermione, glancing at the board as Snape droned on and on about what we'd be brewing today – Antidote for Uncommon Poisons.

"Miss Black?"

The room goes quiet as I look up from the Billywig stings I was measuring out. "Professor?"

"Why are you wearing a hood?"

"I've come down with a deadly case of Scrofungulus, sir," I deadpan. "My neck looks horrible right now. And my hair is the _worst_ shade of puce," I add with a touch of dramatically-disgusted flair and an unseen ear twitch.

A few students quickly scoot their stools away from me, whispers erupting all over the room as kids shoot me fearful glances.

"ENOUGH!" Snape bellows, looking as if he'd just smelled something foul. "Miss Black, ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek. One more word and it will be detention for a month. Get back to work."

I return to the Billywig stings with a small smile on my face as I begin to crush them into a fine powder.

"You don't really have Scrofungulus, do you," Hermione whispers as we're bent over the cauldron.

"Ha, no," I chuckle softly. "But did you see the look on everyone's faces?"

"Now they're gonna think you're contagious," she warns without even looking at me. "And…puce?"

"Never let it be said that I didn't learn anything from Petunia's love of _Glamour_ Magazine," I murmur amusedly. "Hand me that graphorn horn power, will you?"

We brew the potion in mostly silence, only occasionally broken by a request to 'pass the whatever' and by the end of class we have a potion that is glowing a bright, irradiated green, which actually isn't that far off from the neon green potion we were _supposed_ to get.

Snape prowls around the room, gazing into each cauldron and giving each pair of potioneers a grade. When he gets to ours, he doesn't seem to be able to look directly at it for too long because of the glow.

To be fair, I'm not looking at it either.

"Acceptable," he snarls, and I feel my ears pin themselves back before he sweeps out with a dramatic flair I could only hope to one day master.

(Which I would. I would be more dramatic than him and rub it in his snarling face.)

I watch his back for a moment, willing my ear to come back up and suppressing the odd urge I had to snarl myself.

"Ori?"

I jump and turn to see Ron looking at me, concerned. "You alright, mate? You got a weird look on your face there for a second."

"I'm fine," I tell him absently, packing up my books after jotting down the homework assignment. "I need to go to the bathroom, though, so I'll meet you in Herbology, okay?"

He nods and I brush past him to exit the classroom, turning down the hallways and heading for the nearest bathroom.

I make sure the door's locked before pulling off the hood and studying myself in the mirror, watching my ears twitch and flick lazily. They match my hair almost perfectly in color, although they're less glossy than my hair is. The ears themselves are flopped over like a Labrador Retriever's ears would, and they're smooth and slightly warm to the touch.

I can hear better with these than I could with my human ears, but I suppose that was because dogs are genetically engineered to hunt and humans have no use to hear a mouse's scurrying.

Or at least that's what the dog encyclopedia I checked out says.

As cool as these ears were, I knew I couldn't keep them because I couldn't keep up the lies forever and that hood was really unwieldly. Not to mention all the things I _couldn't_ do with these: play Quidditch (the hood would never stay on), style my hair, or keep secrets ever again.

Yeah, this whole situation sucked.

My ears echoed that sentiment.

* * *

 **Hello dear readers! I'm back! Keep up with the awesome reviews, follows, and favorites!**


	34. Chapter 33

_Previously:_

 _Orissa got dog ears in a messed-up partial Animagus transformation._

 _She was forced to wear a mage's hood and faked a deadly disease._

* * *

Luckily, I got rid of the dog ears – and therefore the hood – a few days later, which was good, because everyone around me knew the Scrofungulus lie was thin, let alone the one where it was a new fashion statement. Thankfully, no one managed to see through either and half the school population now thought I was contagious, including the girls in the dorm, which meant they were finally leaving me alone for the first time since September.

April 20th came with a surprise: it was the date of Buckbeak's trial, which I had completely forgot about. And yes, I did feel bad about forgetting, but between classes, exams coming up, OWL prep already being pushed upon me, a missing-but-probably-dead rat, and progressing a highly-illegal human transformation, was I expected to remember everything?

Harry, Ron, and Hermione and I made our way down to Hagrid's hut in the break between the last class and dinner, when the last rays of the sun were beginning to disappear and you could just hear the crickets if you listened hard enough.

Hagrid isn't actually in his hut, but we eventually found him by the shores of the lake behind the hut, dressed in a horribly hairy suit, absently skipping rocks across the water.

"Hagrid?" I call quietly as we approach. "Hagrid."

The nearly nine-foot groundskeeper startles, which is actually slightly funny to watch, and turns to face us. His eyes are red and puffy, like he'd been crying. "Oh. 'Ey, 'Arry, Ron, 'Ermione, Orissa. What are you three doin' out so late?"

"We had a break between classes and dinner, so we wanted to come see how your trial went," Hermione explains.

"So how did it go?" I ask lightly, making sure to keep my eyes on the rocks bouncing across the lake instead of Hagrid's face.

Nonetheless, I can hear him break down. "Oh, it was horrible! I was up on the stand, an' I had all yer notes, Hermione, but they were all starin' an' I forgot me lines…Malfoy 'ad them eatin' righ' out of his hand, he did. Beaky got his sentence, alrigh'. They said he's goin' ta die."

"Oh, Hagrid," Hermione sighs sympathetically. "It'll be alright."

"Aw, thanks, Hermione," he sniffs. "But now all I can do is make sure he's got the bes' life he can…he'll wan' ta spend is las' days in the sun, y'know…"

"Er…I'll go make tea?" Ron suggests, sounding like he wants nothing more than to leave this highly-emotional situation. "What?" he defends at my strange look. "It's what Mum does when someone's upset."

"I'll come with you," I offer, not giving him a chance to reply as I fall in stride. "I'm really bad at emotions," I admit quietly once we're out of earshot of the sobbing half-giant.

"No kidding," Ron snorts, and I opt to whack him over the head instead of reply verbally as we step into the small hut. "You get the sugar," I order, trying to find a way to even reach his cabinets.

Just as I'm considering self-levitation, there's a crash behind me, and I turn to see Ron surrounded by the ceramic shards of the sugar jar, holding a small grey bundle. "Scabbers!"

"He's not dead?" I ask incredulously after muttering a quick _Reparo_ for the jar. "And this means Hermione was right the _entire time!"_ I realize. "Come on, Ron, admit it, admit it…"

"Fine," he huffs and rolls his eyes in only a way that a boy with six siblings can. "Hermione was right. Don't tell her I said that, though," he backpedals quickly, his cheeks turning pink.

"No promises," I tease, turning to leave the hut. "Come on, let's go. We're never going to find the ingredients for tea at this rate."

We return to where we had left Hagrid, Hermione, and Harry, and I'm pleased to see that the half-giant's eyes are dry. "We couldn't make tea," I admit, "and Hagrid, you need more sugar, and that's all Ron's fault-"

"Hey!"

"-but on a better note," I continue, completely ignoring Ron's protest, "we found Scabbers!"

"Scabbers?" Hermione parrots. "He's not dead?"

"Nope!" I chirp. "And _Ron_ has something to say to you." I give the redhead a pointed glare.

"Right, er, 'Mione, I'm...uh...sorry," he stutters awkwardly.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione cries and embraces Ron in a bone-crushing hug. Ron gives me a terrified look, causing me to smother my laughter behind a hand.

When Hermione finally lets him go, we all look at Hagrid. "So there isn't anything we can do?" I clarify.

He shakes his head, hair and beard creating a bushy cloud around his head. "There isn't anythin' anyone can do, Ori," he sighs. "I jus' 'ave ta be there for Beaky…yeh should probably head to dinner. Don' miss it on my account."

We all hesitate for a moment.

"If you're sure, Hagrid…" Harry says quietly.

"I'm sure," he waves us off dismissively. "Go on, now."

I sigh as we make our way back to the castle, feeling utterly helpless and hating every second of it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hermione asks, falling into step with me.

"I hate being helpless," I explain, my eyes finding different constellations in the night sky. "I just wish…"

"I know," she agrees. "But I don't know what else to do."

"We could put Buckbeak into hiding," Harry suggests.

"That would work," I allow, "if it weren't for the fact that he's have to go by himself, and you can't exactly walk up to the hippogriff and be like 'okay, now, stay in hiding like a good boy'."

"You're right," he mutters, scuffing his shoes into the dirt. I can tell he's thinking along the same lines I am – neither of us like to sit on the sidelines and watch; we both have to be smack dab in the middle of the fray or else we'll go insane.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Ron assures us. "But for now, can we _please_ go eat?"

"Typical," I laugh. "Yeah, let's go."

He immediately sets a brisk pace towards the castle, with Harry jogging after him, but I linger for a moment.

Hermione comes up to my shoulder. "Orissa? Something wrong?"

"What?" I jump. "No, no, I'm okay…it's just…everything." I sigh. "My father could kill thirteen people with a single spell but I can't save one hippogriff."

"That's a different kind of powerful," she reasons softly. "I think you know that."

"I do," I moan. "But it's not fair."

"I know," she agrees. "But when has your life ever been fair?"

 _She has a point,_ a pessimistic little voice in my head whispers.

And she did. If my life had been fair, Voldemort wouldn't have wanted to kill Harry and I. James and Lily Potter wouldn't have died, and I would've known my godfather and the woman that was probably my godmother. My father wouldn't have killed over a dozen people, and I would have had a normal childhood, away from the Dursleys; plus, I would've known exactly who I was thirteen years ago, not seven months ago.

But I had also learned that I couldn't do much about that: there was no way to magically turn back time and make everything better, as much as I wished there was.

So I had to deal with what I had, here and now.

"True," I nod in response to Hermione's question and begin up the castle steps. "Come on, I'm hungry. Bet you five sickles they're having Shepherd's Pie tonight."

"You _hate_ Shepherd's Pie, though," she argues, following me into the Entrance Hall. "I'll bet _you ten_ sickles it's roast beef instead."

"You're on." I offer her a mock-serious handshake, which she takes in all seriousness.

Never let it be said that I didn't know how to play the cards I had been dealt, or so I think the Muggle saying went.

And if my cards just happened to show ten sickles in my future…

…that's neither here nor there.


	35. Chapter 34

_Previously:_

 _Orissa lost her temporary dog ears._

 _Hagrid lost Buckbeak's appeal._

 _Scabbers was found alive and unharmed._

Mid-spring came to Hogwarts with warmer weather, sunnier days, and...the Quidditch Cup. Which was, of course, my very first game against the Slytherins - the biggest, baddest, most brutal team there was at Hogwarts.

"Nasty team they are," Fred was saying. "Brutal, brutal lads - and Chaser's the most dangerous position, of course-"

"Hey!" Angelina smacked him over the head with a scowl on her face. "Quit it, Fred. Go bother George," she orders before turning back to me, her expression softening. "Orissa, you'll be fine. You're an expert flier - Montague, Flint, and Warrington _combined_ can't match up."

"You're overestimating me," I whimper, worrying my lower lip between my teeth. "I swear, I'm gonna die, you'll have to find a new Chaser, sorry. I don't want to die at thirteen!" I wail, tossing an arm across my forehead and flopping backward, almost toppling off the bench.

"Get it together, Black!" Angelina commands, reaching out to steady me and pull me back up. "Come on, get your head in the game."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am," I grumble, wanting to curl up in a ball and hide for the next millennium.

Before I can follow through with that, Oliver bursts into the waiting room. "Two minutes! Are we ready? I - Black! Where are your armguards?"

"Right here, cap'n," I call, grabbing the stiff, scaly braces and strapping them onto my forearms as Wood went over the last-minute game plans, drilling Harry about not catching the Snitch unless we were fifty points up, which meant that Alicia, Angelina, and I had to be on our game and get us up fifty points quickly, lest we prolong the game and give the snakes a chance to score, or worse - catch the Snitch.

With final preparations done, we all line up with Harry taking the lead and Oliver bringing up the rear.

"Good luck, team," Wood calls. "We've got this one in the bag. It all comes down to this."

"No pressure or anything," Fred murmurs behind me, and I snort in agreement.

We march out onto the field to thunderous applause, half the crowd roaring and the others booing.

"And here is the Gryffindor team - Potter, followed by Spinnet, Johnson, Black – who is shaping up quite nicely – Weasley, Weasley, and team captain Wood!"

I throw up a hand a wave at the crowd with absent enthusiasm, tuning out Lee as he announced the Slytherins, instead trying to pick out the three Chasers from the lineup.

I eventually spot them, and just have time to note that they were all huge – built like mountains, I mean – before the call goes up to mount our brooms.

My Firebolt is steady under my clenched hands, which were quivering slightly.

 _Steady,_ I chastise myself. _Keep it steady._

Before long, the whistle blows and the pitch explodes in activity, all six Chasers going for the Quaffle at once in a blur of red and green – it was a bit Christmas-y, if you ask me.

I swerve to the outside of the mass, looking for openings. Finding none, I dart after Montague who currently had possession of the Quaffle and was being chased by Angelina and Alicia and now myself.

I nimbly slip between the burly Chasers - now fully understanding why Oliver wanted Gryffindor Chasers to be smaller and fast - and steal the Quaffle before Montague catches up to what's going on, speeding ahead and passing it to Angelina, who grins and executes a perfect hairpin turn, flying back down the pitch to the Slytherin hoops.

Alicia and I manage to do a pretty good job of keeping the opposing team off her tail, with assistance, of course, provided by Fred and George Weasley.

I slow down as Angelina enters the scoring area, watching her movements like a hawk. She hovers for a moment before lining up the Quaffle with the center hoop. She shoots, she scores-

-and she's slammed into by Flint just as the Quaffle clears the hoop.

Alicia rushes to check on our teammate, and I prepare to follow her before there's a red blur speeding by, Fred Weasley slowing only in order to slam his bat into the back of Flint's head, sending his nose into his broom handle with a loud _crack._

I can hear the shriek of Madam Hooch's whistle, even above the roar of the enraged crowd. "Penalty to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty to Slytherin for an unprovoked attack on _their_ Chaser!"

I groan as I fly over to the side of the pitch, where the Chasers and Beaters had landed for a moment.

"Angelina's taking the shot," Fred informs me as I pull up. "Her penalty, her shot, you know."

I nod silently, watching as the pitch goes quiet and Angelina approaches the Slytherin goals and stills her broom, lining up the shot with years of experience under her belt.

She lines up the shot, winds it back, and sends the Quaffle through the right hoop, which Bletchley _still_ can't block - I didn't understand why they kept him around at this point, was his job simply to look grumpy?

The crowd goes wild as Angelina brings the score to twenty-zero, Gryffindor, and then passes the Quaffle to Flint, who lines up in front of the Gryffindor goals, shooting a look of pure contempt at his fellow Captain.

Wood is, of course, a superb Keeper, so Flint is robbed of his ten points and our lead is kept safe.

The game quickly resumes with Slytherin in possession, Fred and George being maniacs, and Montague determined to tail me personally.

While I appreciated the attention, it was really getting quite annoying.

Apparently, he thought so too, because just as I was about to help corner Warrington, who was hogging the Quaffle, a hand grabs the back of my head and smashes it down into my broom handle, causing black spots to erupt in my vision.

"Orissa?" a concerned-sounding voice asks, and Angelina's face swims into view. "Are you okay? That was a nasty blow."

"I'm fine," I say dismissively. "Just a headache."

"Still, come land for a moment so Hooch can check you out," she insists. "Alicia'll take your penalty."

I sigh in concession and quickly land, dismounting and allowing the referee to examine the bruise that was undoubtedly forming above my left eyebrow.

"Make sure you see Madam Pomfrey after this is done," she orders sternly. "No headache?"

"No," I deny, and that was the truth; the headache was already fading. I realized that it wasn't the best policy on personal health, but there was absolutely no way I was going to leave Gryffindor one Chaser down, and therefore out of the game when we were on the edge of winning the Cup.

Madam Hooch just looks at me for another moment before nodding and waving me back to my broom, giving a short burst of her whistle to signal the end of the timeout.

The scoreboard now read thirty-ten, still Gryffindor. The points, I realize, had majorly been scored by penalties, but hey, if it meant a win, who was I to complain?

The field, for the Chasers, turns into a giant game of hot potato, none of us keeping possession of the Quaffle for long before passing it to a teammate, who then pass it to someone else.

I had been keeping an eye out for Harry - he and Malfoy were playing an odd game of cat and mouse, with Malfoy insulting Harry and Harry mainly ignoring him, both of them scanning constantly for the Snitch.

After about fifteen minutes of this, Alicia and I decide to intercept Flint, who was chasing Angelina, who had possession. We fall into perfect Porksoff Ploy formation, Alicia above me while I flew lower, set to come in just below the Slytherin Captain, therefore throwing him off kilter and off Angelina's tail.

About halfway to our destination, there's a telltale low, buzzing hum coming up behind me, and I swerve just in time to avoid a Bludger and, subsequently, Fred and Lucian Bole, Slytherin Beater.

Alicia, however, is not quite as lucky: there's a loud _thud_ coming from her direction and I look over to see her wincing, holding a hand to the back of her head, with Bole looking like the cat that got the canary and the cream too.

My blood rises to a boil as I dive sharply, putting myself right in front of Bole and elbowing him in the face, the stiff leather of my arm guards acting sort of like brass knuckles. I glare at him, tensing up as he glares back, blood pouring from his nose.

Before I can inflict any more damage, however, the whistle shrieks and Madam Hooch storms onto the field, awarding Gryffindor and Slytherin each a penalty for unnecessary violence.

Honestly, I don't know what else she expected here.

I end up taking Alicia's penalty while she got checked by Madam Hooch, making my way over to the Slytherin, where Bletchley was waiting and glaring, looking quite like a troll.

I bring the Firebolt to an almost-stop, holding the Quaffle in front of me and tossing it straight up into the air, using my broom handle to smack it through the left hoop before Bletchley realizes what's going on.

Once he realizes I've scored, the Keeper makes an angry growling noise. I just return it with my most charming smile and subtly make a rude gesture before flying away to rejoin my team.

"No concussion?" I ask Alicia as I approach, and she shakes her head. "No, just a nice knot at the back of my head for a week or so. Beater clubs aren't gentle."

"And neither are Slytherins," I agree with a small grin.

Soon enough, Flint's taken his shot and Wood saves, bringing the score to forty-ten, Gryffindor.

The game quickly picks up again, with the Slytherins going on the defensive - they knew how far behind they were, and were going to fight tooth and nail to get ahead of us. I use the speed and agility of the Firebolt to my advantage, ducking and dodging left and right to avoid Bludgers and players alike.

After swiping the Quaffle right from under Montague's nose I take off down the pitch, easily dodging everyone on the opposing team, and darting into the scoring area, effectively shielding myself from everyone else because I was the only one allowed in, as I had the Quaffle.

The shot is easy, and I'm seriously doubting Bletchley's talents beyond growling angrily. I raise the score to fifty-ten, signaling that Harry could start seriously pursuing the Snitch.

 _Please let this be over soon,_ I silently plead as I watch red and green blur around the pitch. _Without any more injury, if that's possible._

I'm not that lucky.

There's a cry of outrage from the Gryffindor supporters in the crowd as Wood takes two Bludgers to the stomach simultaneously, and after I'm sure that he's not hurt, just winded, I growl at the Slytherin Beaters, my inner dog throwing a fit.

I needn't have worried, though, because Madam Hooch is absolutely furious. "YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS IN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieks at the two beaters. "Gryffindor penalty!"

Angelina takes the penalty, effortlessly sending the ball through the center hoop and giving us a sixty-ten lead.

Something in the air was different as the game resumed, and I could instantly tell what it was – we were all getting fed up. The Slytherins were never going to play fair; that much was a given. But people were getting hurt, and if Harry didn't catch the Snitch soon, someone was going to be pushed too far.

Logically I knew that if we lost focus, we could lose the lead, but I had a nice purple bruise above my left eye and Alicia had almost gotten a concussion. Wood might've broken or at least bruised a rib or two, and the twins were being stretched thin trying to protect all of us.

This wasn't much of a game anymore.

So I follow Alicia with a new determination as she ducks and dodges her way towards the goal, mentally daring my opponents to mess with the speed of the Firebolt.

Alicia shoots, Bletchley fails to save once again, and we're up seventy-ten and Harry hasn't found the Snitch.

I give myself a moment to breathe, tuning back into Lee's commentary as I hovered above the fray.

"Things are tense down there, folks, with the Slytherins being dirty, lying, cheating scum-"

"Jordan!"

"I tell it as it is, professor. Anyways, the game goes on – oh! Oh, Potter is diving, _Potter has seen the Snitch_!"

I look up, my eyes finding Harry and I grin as he streaks through the air, his robes a blur of red as he pushes the Firebolt further-

He unexpectedly slows down, and the crowd is on its feet in outrage as Malfoy grabs the twigs of the Firebolt, slowing Harry down and allowing the Snitch to escape again.

The crowd's rage, however, is _nothing_ compared to my own. I lunge upwards towards Malfoy, fists flying as my vision is clouded red.

The next thing I know, Fred and George are forcibly pulling me away from the Slytherin Seeker, whose face is covered in a motley of bruises that match the ones on my knuckles.

"Penalty to Gryffindor for an attack on their Seeker! Penalty to Slytherin for an attack on _their_ Seeker!"

"You're joking!" Fred howled, but the penalty stood. Alicia took our penalty, but she was so irate she missed by several feet. Montage then scored his penalty, awarding Slytherin ten more points.

I groan in a combination of slight pain, exhaustion, and frustration, but my attention is quickly drawn to Angelina, who was speeding down the pitch towards the Slytherin with what looks like the entire Slytherin team on her tail.

I shoot forward at over 100 miles an hour, plowing into the other team juggernaut-style, a fearsome cry behind me signaling that Harry had the same idea.

Once her way is clear, Angelina easily scores, sending the crowd to their feet.

"And Johnson scores, sending Gryffindor into the lead, eighty points to twenty!"

"Ori, move!" Harry shouts, and I roll out of the way just in time to see him whiz past me, followed not a second later by Malfoy.

My heart pounds as I watch them race, not being able to see the Snitch but knowing it was there-

They're neck and neck, reaching out-

And Harry is raising a hand into the air, a smug look on his face.

He's done it – Harry has caught the Snitch, catapulting us to 230 points, ending the game – at last – and winning the Cup.

I'm the first to reach my god-brother, catching him in a bone-crushing despite the fact that everything ached. And if I let a few tears fall onto Harry's robes...well, I was tired, okay?

Wood is the next to reach us, and he sobs unashamedly into Harry's shoulder, followed by the twins, who squeeze one of my shoulders each. Angelina and Alicia pull me into a three-way, jumping up and down and screaming "We've won the cup! We've won the Cup!"

The entire team is hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd - even me, the ecstasy of the Cup overriding the trepidation that people normally felt around me.

Once the crowd dissipates, we hand the Cup off to McGonagall and limp back to the castle, laughing and joking all the way.

Fred and George produce Butterbeers and Honeydukes sweets, passing them around as the post-game party picks up steam.

I can't keep the smile off my face as I look around at my partying housemates. For once, no one was arguing or overly worried about anything.

Yes, threats did still exist, of course, but...had there been a Dementor around, I was absolutely sure my Patronus would be magnificent.

* * *

 **Hello, I'm not dead.**

 **Sorry for the late update...again. Also sorry for any spelling errors - this is unbeta-d and writen on an iPad.  
**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - your support means a lot!**


	36. Chapter 35

_Previously:_

 _The Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match for the Cup._

 _Gryffindor won._

* * *

The euphoria of the match lasted at least for the next week, dampened only by the fact that the days had become unbearably hot, but we weren't able to relax in the shade because exams were almost upon us.

Fred, George, and I had started a betting pool on who was more like a maniac: Hermione, who was extremely sleep-deprived and would explode upon anyone in the Common Room speaking above a whisper, or Percy, who desperately needed good exam scores in order to achieve the job at the Ministry that he wanted.

Harry, Ron, and I were just content to ride out the storm.

Currently, we were all lounging in the Common Room; Hermione was buried in a book, Ron and Harry were engaged in a vicious (but quiet) chess game, and I was sprawled across the couch, an essay spread across my lap and every bone in my body aching.

For some reason, I had been sore all over for the past week – Harry and Ron were just convinced that it was left over from the match, and outwardly I agreed, but internally I knew that the bruise above my eye wasn't hurting and neither should anything else.

A tapping at the window distracts me from the forty-two uses of slugs in various potions, and I look up to see an unfamiliar owl watching me.

"Anyone going to get that?" I ask, glancing around at my friends. No one shows any sign of having heard me or the owl. "Fine," I huff, setting my parchment and quill aside. "Make the one in pain get it, why don't you?"

"What was that, Ori?" Hermione asks absently, glancing up from her book for only a moment.

"Nothing," I grumble as I open the window, letting the owl hop inside before untying the small note that it carried. I unroll the note and read the first line as the owl flies away. "It's from Hagrid."

That got everyone's attention, and they all crowd around me, books and chess forgotten.

"What is it?" Hermione asks curiously.

I quickly scan the paper and let out a long breath. "They've set an execution date," I announce. "It's set for the sixth."

"Well, at least exams will be over by then, we could be there for, y'know, support," Harry suggests with a shrug.

"He said we shouldn't be there," Hermione, who had been reading over my shoulder, said. "He doesn't want us to see Buckbeak…you know."

"Well then, we're definitely going," I decide.

The bookworm looks at me like I've just announced that I was transferring to Slytherin. "Um, Ori, Hagrid _expressly_ told us _not_ to go. And he's a professor."

I give Hermione the same smile I give the twins just before pulling a prank. "'Mione, you've known me for three years now, and you _still_ don't know that someone telling you not to do something is a perfect reason to do it anyways?"

She holds my gaze for a moment before sighing. "Okay, I'm not saying we can't, but we still shouldn't. Harry really needs to be careful, and you…" Her eyes flick downwards to my ankle cuff, still glowing green.

"I can be out between sunrise and sunset," I remind her with a disgruntled look at the offending cuff. "I'll be fine."

I turn to head back to the couch, feeling her frown on my back, when a sudden burst of pain in my back brings me to my knees with a soft gasp.

Hermione and Ron are instantly by my side, and I can feel Harry hands on my back, holding me up.

"Ori, what is it?" Hermione asks frantically.

"It's...nothing," I mutter as soon as I get my breath back. "I'm...okay."

"No, you're not," she insists.

"This isn't a Quidditch injury." Ron frowns. "Maybe you should go see Pomfrey."

"No." I shake my head and push myself off the ground, standing on shaking legs like a newborn foal. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

"Last time you doubled over in pain, you were turning into another person," Harry points out. "It's not _nothing_."

Ron makes a face. "Ori, you had better not be turning into someone else again. That'd be weird."

I laugh at that before wincing, the movement jarring my sore ribs. "I'm fine," I insist at their worried looks. "Look, if it'll help you sleep at night, I'll go see Madam Pomfrey."

"I'll take you," Hermione offers, getting up to grab her bag.

"No, I'll be fine." I wave her off, shuffling back towards the portrait hole.

Harry gives me a concerned look. "I don't really think you should go on your own, Ori. Do you want me to take you?"

"No," I growl, both in pain and frustration. "I will be okay. I'll call Dobby if it gets too much, okay?"

Hermione and Ron look troubled, but Harry must've believed me because he puts a hand on each of their arms, nodding at me.

I return the nod and hobble my way out of the Common Room, managing to hoist myself through the portrait hole with no small amount of grunting.

Once I'm out of earshot of the Fat Lady, I lean wearily against the wall and sink to the floor, curling into a small ball. Every one of my nerve endings felt like they were on fire, my organs felt my they were playing bumper cars at high speed, and my bones seemed to be ripping themselves apart.

"Dobby," I croak quietly.

A loud _crack_ is heard before the aforementioned elf appears. "Missy Rissy called Dobby! Is Missy Rissy hurt?"

"Don't worry about it," I hiss between clenched teeth. "Dobby, do you know…on the seventh floor…the painting of…the trolls learning ballet? The room…opposite that?"

Dobby only looks confused for a moment before nodding, his gigantic ears flopping up and down. "You's is speaking of the Come and Go Room, Miss! Dobby knows it."

"Take me there," I demand, probably harsher than intended, but the pain was getting steadily worse. "Take me there…and then leave…please Dobby."

Dobby looks concerned for another moment before nodding again and reaching out to grab my arm, snapping his fingers before the world goes black.

For a moment, I'm worried that I've passed out, but then the black disappears with another _crack_ , and I'm on the floor of the 'Come and Go Room', as Dobby called it.

I manage to hoist myself onto my hands and knees before falling into a slightly different balled-up position, this one facing the floor.

Because _oh my Merlin's ivory dentures this hurts soooo_ _**bad.**_

 _ **SO BADLY.**_

Do you know what it's like to feel your bones rearrange _without_ any anesthesia of any kind? To have every organ in your body suddenly shift from where it's supposed to be to where it's not? To have your skull decide to reshape itself like a blob of wet clay? To have your spine deciding it wants to stretch out and add a few more vertebrae?

No?

Oh…well, I can say that it _bloody. Freaking. Hurts._

I do have to admit that the pain _does_ eventually stop – only once I've thrown up maybe three times and had three momentary black-outs, of course; but it does eventually fade, first to a more manageable level and then to a dull ache, like one _should_ feel after a Quidditch match.

The first sign that something isn't right comes right as soon as I open my eyes, because I'm pretty sure I didn't have a black, furry snout when this all started. Or a shiny, wet black nose, for that matter.

I bolt to my feet and almost immediately fall over again, because my feet felt…odd…and – wait. These were not my _feet_.

 _They were paws._

I drop my head to look at myself, my jaw dropping with a weird whining noise.

 _Bloody hell._

I'd actually done it – I was staring at a dog.

I was an Animagus.


	37. Chapter 36

_Previously:_

 _The Trio received a date for Buckbeak's execution._

 _Orissa successfully completed the Animagus transformation, after a large amount of pain._

* * *

My first act as a newly-minted canine? Learn how to walk.

It was bloody _hard!_ I had been studying the general habits of dogs similar to myself since August – it was now late May – as was necessary for the transformation; I needed to know how this dog walked and talked – er, barked – down to the muscle movement.

Despite that, not much could prepare me for the fact that I was now having to use four legs instead of four and was as unsteady as a toddler.

 _Get it together!_ my internal voice says, and hey, internal monologs work as a dog too! _You know what you're doing here, so get up and do it!_

Right. I shake my fur out – that was going to take some getting used to – and take a tentative step forward. I don't fall, although I am a bit stiff, so I move my back paw to correspond with the front one. And then repeat it with the other side, and then back again, and again…

And I find myself walking in circles around the room.

I give a celebratory bark, which echoes off the stone walls and floor and makes me sit, blink, then quirk my lips into what I suppose was the dog equivalent of a smirk. _Well, everyone does always tell me I'm loud, so why should this be any different?_

I get up and shake myself out again, trotting over to the large, cathedral-style and put my front paws on the windowsill – it was only about nose-level on me.

The window looked out upon the grounds of Hogwarts, although I had no idea whether or not this was a real view or not. Either way, it showed a dark, starlit sky with a half-moon looking down at the quiet school grounds.

I suddenly get the overwhelming urge to run and hunt down mice that I _knew_ were out there – a predator's instincts at their finest. Why was I locked up in this drafty old castle? I wanted _out!_

No. My mind – my _human_ mind – snaps back into focus like I had flipped a switch. The fact of the matter was that I couldn't go outside because the sun had set and those trolls at the Ministry had locked me inside a giant cage. I twist around to look mournfully at my hind leg, fully expecting to find the disgustingly familiar silver-green band.

But it's not there.

My first reaction is a crippling panic: had it been lost in the transformation? Did the Ministry know about the transformation now? Was I going to be arrested?

A flicker of green in my peripheral vision catches my eye, and I turn to see a familiar band lying on the floor near the door.

I trot over and cautiously prod it with a paw, sniffing it and finding it completely intact, still glowing green and just…laying there.

I sit down, feeling the equivalent of a grin come on as it all clicks. The band had simply _fallen off._ After all the spell work the Ministry had taken to ensure that I was under their thumb, the ankle cuff had fallen off when my ankles got thinner. I had no doubts that I had to put it back on, somehow, when I turned back, but until then…I was _free_.

I give a puppy-like yelp as I spin around, completely exuberant. I could go outside! I could run and hunt – well, okay, not hunt – and – Merlin, who knew what else? I'd never seen the grounds as anything but human. The world was my oyster.

With that thought in mind, I head for the door with a spring in my step. As I make my way out, I allow my mind to wander to my new form.

From what I could tell about the mind of a dog, it was much, much simpler than that of a human. I didn't have as many complex thoughts and emotions were much simpler – which I was thankful for because dog-me couldn't comprehend the intricate tension that had been surrounding me for months.

And speaking of tension, I freeze in the middle of a fourth-floor corridor as my ears perk up, picking up the faint sound of footsteps, still pretty far off but enough for me to shimmy behind a suit of armor.

I watch as a figure appears around a corner – Lupin, I quickly recognize, even in the almost-dark hallway. He carries a distinct scent of the forest, wool, and a scent I instinctually recognize as a wolf.

But why was he out here? It was late at night, or maybe early morning, and the full moon wasn't for another few days. Was he doing corridor patrols? If so, my luck was horrible, but it could've been Snape.

I accidentally bump the armor and then freeze as Lupin snaps his head over in my direction, his wand instantly in his hand. "Who's there?" he whispers harshly. "Come out, now."

I can hear his muttered _Lumos_ , and then he stops, presumably seeing me, or my shadow, in the wand-light. A look of fear comes across his face as he stares at me – but I don't think it was because I _did_ look similar to the Grim, just a few inches smaller. No, this fear is different, but it's quickly replaced by sadness, a sadness that makes my heart sink and my whole body shiver, rattling the armor next to me.

Professor Lupin opens his mouth; to say something or hex me I'll never know because all he does is turn on his heel and hurries off in the direction he came. I stare for only a moment more before bolting in the other direction, my nails beating a quick tempo against the stone floor.

I make it to the Entrance Hall and wriggle through a small gap in the doors, making my way outside and standing on the castle steps.

I stick my nose in the air and take a deep breath – there were _so many_ scents! The was the sticky-sweet scent of pine coming from the Forest, seaweed and water coming from the direction of the Black Lake, and even a whiff of owls, even though the Owlery was on the other side of the school. Everything was overlaid with the mingled scents of hundreds of students that had passed over these grounds every day for years and years.

One scent that catches my attention is that of another dog – an adult male that I've never met before, but something within me was telling me to follow the scent. Seeing as I had all night and nothing else to do, I lowered my nose to the ground and set out to do just that.

I manage to follow the scent to the edge of the Forbidden Forest before hesitating. Thanks to dogs' enhanced night vision, the forest wasn't as dark as it normally would be, but it still held the same foreboding chill it had the first year and then the second.

I shake my head and give a low growl and, summoning my Gryffindor courage, I walk into the forest.

I follow the scent of the other dog through the woods and into a small clearing surrounded by large trees, and then stop dead once I realize what I'm looking at.

It's the big, Grim-like dog I had seen back in January when I went flying after getting my Firebolt back. I crashed into a shrub and saw a dog – _this_ dog.

The bigger dog raises his hackles and snarls at me, causing the dog side of me to shrink back– this dog was half a head taller than me and he was showing his teeth, and the half of my mind that belonged to the dog was telling me to _run, run and never look back!_

Except human-me could never get the hang of listening to orders, so I raise my hackles and rise to my full height of about twenty-eight inches – the other dog was six to eight inches taller than I was – and snarl straight back, looking him dead in the eye and growling low in my chest.

 _Yeah, that's right, I'm not scared of you, you overgrown Chihuahua!_

We glare at each other for a very long time before the other dog slowly lowers his hackles, not taking his eyes off me as he sits down, leaves rustling as he moves.

Watching the other dog, I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that I should know who I'm looking at, I should know who this is-

 _Who?_ I mentally ask. _This is a dog, you idiot, not a person. Just a dog._

I shake my head and shake my coat out again before turning around and going back the way I came, deliberately ignoring the odd feeling that had enveloped me, even as I leave the forest and head for the castle, slipping inside and quickly finding a secret passage that leads up to the seventh floor.

The 'Come and Go Room' hadn't changed since I left it, meaning that my band was just where I left it. I walk over to it and put my rear right leg into the center, quietly picturing myself as human again.

Silently, and thankfully without much pain, I find myself as a thirteen-year-old girl lying stomach-down on the floor, thankfully clothed.

I wait until the dog has completely receded from my mind and body, although I do find that I can smell and hear better than I could before this whole ordeal. My band is also securely locked around my ankle once more, to my dismay.

I leave the Room quietly, making my way down to and inside the Common Room without incident, which was important, seeing as it was probably hours before everyone else woke up. I sneak up the girls' staircase and nudge the door open, grimacing as it squeaks.

None of the girls stir, although Crookshanks does try – unsuccessfully – to make a break for freedom. I nudge him back towards Hermione's bed and change into my pajamas, slipping under the scarlet covers on my bed.

I quickly sink into sleep's embrace, completely exhausted from the night's events.


	38. Chapter 37

**Thanks to kate3110 and Lilian123 for reviewing the last chapter. Glad you liked it.**

 **This chapter is a beast – over 3,500 words. Sorry, but I didn't want to split it. Please review! More reviews = a faster update, barring Wi-Fi going down or anything like that.**

 _Previously: Orissa ventured out in dog form and met another big, black dog in the forest._

* * *

The first week of June came, saw, conquered, and left a trail of anxiety-ridden students in its wake.

Yep, you guessed it: exam week was upon us.

The chaos started early Monday morning; the girls in the dorm usually relied on Hermione's alarm to wake up, but seeing as how she'd been deep in study-ville the night before, she had forgotten to set it. This led to a mad rush to pack bags, do hair and/or makeup, and do a last minute note-check. (I just got dressed and tried to avoid everyone. They _still_ hated me, although I'd gotten used to it.)

We made it down to the last half of breakfast, which was a tense affair – ironically, _I_ had to practically shove food down _Hermione's_ throat, who was so nervous she could barely keep any of it down anyways. She had one book propped against the juice pitcher and another against the basket of rolls and was somehow reading both so fast that her eyes blurred.

I should note, however, that I was nervous as well, just not to the extent of Percy and Hermione. Monday had our Transfiguration and Charms exams; the former was pretty much my best subject, and the other wasn't much of an issue.

Once nine o'clock rolled around, the four of us trudged our way to McGonagall's classroom, where we were greeted by the stern professor herself and twenty teapots.

Our exam, as it turns out, was to turn those teapots into tortoises. As exams went, it didn't seem all too hard - but I was a bit biased.

Once the two-hour block was through, most of my classmates looked like zombies, moaning about steam-breathing tortoises with willow-patterned shells. Hermione probably had the least to worry about – her tortoise might've been a turtle, but by Merlin's mother, who cared? Personally, my tortoise's shell still looked and sounded a bit like porcelain, but I was sure I did well overall.

Lunch was a repeat of breakfast, minus the mad rush: Hermione studied, and Ron, Harry, and I sat idly by and picked at our food while she babbled under her breath, muttering her worries about _Muggle Studies_ , of all things.

Yeah.

Lunch was over soon enough, though, and we headed off to Charms, where we were paired off and told to cast Cheering Charms on one another.

Right, Flitwick. Give teenagers wands and give them full permission to cast upon one another. At least we had Charms with the Hufflepuffs, who were unlikely to hex us, and my partner was the Exam Queen herself.

I'm not sure if Hermione's Cheering Charm worked – although it probably did – because I was already laughing at Ron, who had been the recipient of Harry's overpowered spell and was shrieking in maniacal laughter.

Charms was followed by dinner, curfew, and then bed, all of which passed uneventfully, save for the glares that Fay Dunbar, mean-girl extraordinaire, and her lackeys sent my way.

 _Just two more weeks,_ I reminded myself as I got ready for bed. _Two more weeks and you're outta here._

Tuesday passed in a similar fashion, with Care of Magical Creatures (in which we just had to keep a flobberworm alive for an hour) and Potions, where the Confusing Concoction was...well, _confusing_. Wednesday brought History of Magic, wherein I was bored within five minutes, fell asleep and drooled on my exam, woke up long enough to scribble down something to do with the Salem "Witch" Trials, and fell asleep again until Harry shook me awake.

Our next exam, Astronomy, was at midnight that night, and then we all retired for the night, hopefully looking forward to when this would all be over.

Thursday was June 6th – the date of "Beaky's" execution; but before that, we had to get through two more exams – Defense Against the Dark Arts, which I was excited about, and Divination, which I was simply planning on not attending because Trelawney and her subject were both gigantic loads of owl dung.

Defense was an interesting exam – Lupin had set up an outdoor obstacle course, making us work through a wading pool that was inhabited by a grindylow, cross potholes that held Red Caps, make our way through a marsh while ignoring a hinkypunk, and face a boggart in an old trunk.

"Well done, Orissa," Lupin praises as he helps me climb out of the trunk. "If I were you, I'd be expecting a top score."

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for one, professor," I quip as I brush my hands off, grinning as I sat down in a shady patch nearby to watch my friends run the course.

Harry did as well as I expected, moving through the course quickly and with little difficulty, probably achieving extremely high marks, if not full ones. Ron did well, at least until he ended up waist-deep in swamp water and mud because of a hinkypunk.

Hermione started out good and kept a stellar record until the trunk. After maybe a minute in there with whatever her boggart was, she comes bolting out, screaming about McGonagall failing her in every subject.

I have to bite back a laugh at that as I comfort her. I honestly don't mean to be rude, but only will that never happen, she's not scared of the Grim, the mass murderer after our heads, or even something like snakes or spiders.

Nope. Failing the year, but that's Hermione for you.

After she's calmed down, we begin the trek back to the castle, eagerly looking forward to lunch.

What we see on the castle steps, though, quashes my appetite almost immediately. Standing there is Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, with a mustached wizard dressed in black and several old wizards and witches.

"Ah, Harry!" Fudge calls as we approach, not even acknowledging me even though I was _clearly_ standing right next to The-Boy-Who-Lived. "Just finished an exam, I expect? Almost finished?"

"Er, yes sir," Harry mutters, clearly uncomfortable, while the rest of us just loiter in the background, unsure but completely unwilling to leave.

Fudge nods, looking out over the lake towards Hagrid's hut. "Lovely day…pity, isn't it?"

I tilt my head curiously, wondering what was happening.

Fudge just sighs deeply as he explains the situation the appeal (which everyone knew wasn't truly an appeal and more of an excuse, because they couldn't show up and blatantly go "Hi! We're here to murder your innocent hippogriff. If you'll just sign here…")

"And since I was already needed at Hogwarts to check on the Black situation-" I narrow my eyes at his back and scowl. What would _Fudge_ know about the so-called 'Black situation'? "-I was asked to step in."

"Has the appeal already happened?" Ron asks, stepping forward.

"No, no, it's scheduled for this afternoon," Fudge says.

"So the execution might not happen!" Ron points out, and I wince before lunging forward to grab his arm and drag him out of earshot. "Ron!"

"What?" he demands. "You saw that axe! They've already decided! This isn't justice!"

"Yeah, well, the Ministry isn't big on _trials_ ," I snap, irritation bubbling just under my skin. "They're all bigoted idiots who believe their version of ideas, no matter what everyone else thinks…or what's right, for that matter."

"Both of you, calm down," Hermione orders sternly. "Ron, your dad works at the Ministry! You can't just go around saying things like that to his boss! And _you_ …" She rounds on me, glaring mildly. "You're already on a short leash with the Ministry. I understand you don't like them, but don't make it worse."

"I didn't say anything _to_ him," I defend innocently.

"I saw you glaring holes in his back."

"Yes, _mother_ ," I drawl, shoving my hands in my pockets and following everyone else inside.

Ron and Harry quickly left for their Divination exam – the poor, poor fools – and Hermione for her Muggle Studies one, leaving me to make my way down to the kitchens to plan the big 'End-of-Year' prank with my partners-in-crime.

"Fredrick!" I holler as I climb through the fruit bowl portrait. "Gregory!"

Two identical figures appear in the nearest doorway, one of which is scowling at me. "My name isn't _Gregory._ "

"I know," I grin. "But your name doesn't work like his-" I jerk a thumb at Fred, "-so I had to make something up."

George just huffs at me, reaching over to ruffle my hair before waving me over to a table with parchment and various joke products spread all over it. "So, Blackie, here's what we've got so far…"

* * *

Two and a half hours later, we were all sweaty, slightly singed but happy, mainly because we had an amazing prank planned for the last day of term.

I give my goodbyes to the twins and head back through the castle, entering the small alcove/storage room just off the Entrance Hall where the first years entered in September and sitting down to wait for Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Footsteps sound some fifteen minutes later, and I tentatively poke my head out just far enough to see a mop of messy black, bushy brown, and bright red hair and make my way over to the trio. "Hey."

Hermione startles and whirls around. "Don't _do_ that!"

I just give her my (patented) 'who, _me_?' grin before turning the boys. "You have everything?"

Harry nods, but he looked distracted, his mind somewhere far away. He doesn't say anything, though, so I leave it alone as we leave the castle.

Harry, however, stops me before Hermione can throw the Cloak over us. "Ori, Trelawney told me something this afternoon."

"If it's the Grim again, don't worry," I roll my eyes. "You're still alive, are you not?"

"Yes, but…" he hesitates. "I think this was serious."

I frown at him. "Okay…what did she say?"

"She was in some sort of trance," he explains. "She said something about Voldemort's servant returning to his side after being chained for twelve years, and that it would happen before midnight."

"So…you think my father's going to be here tonight?" I ask slowly, and Harry nods. I sigh. "And what would you like me to do?"

He considers this for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know. I just figured you, of all people, would know something, simply because you're his kid," he admits. "That, and I wanted to warn you. Just in case…"

I nod. "I'll be careful."

He gives me an incredulous look, but whatever he was going to say is interrupted as we arrive at Hagrid's hut, Hermione politely knocking on the door. "Hagrid, it's us."

Hagrid throws the door open, staring down and seeing nothing. "I told yeh not t' come," he grunts softly. "Fine, fine, come in."

We shuffle into the hut, Hermione pulling the Cloak off and handing it to Harry, who folded it and tucked it under his robes.

"How are you?" I ask our professor as he busies himself with preparing tea.

"I'm – I'm alrigh'," Hagrid says, but judging by the mournful tone in his voice, I'm withholding judgement on that. "Yeh shouldn' have come."

There's a general outcry of disagreement around the little hut.

"Well, we did."

"Of course we were going to come!"

"Really, Hagrid."

"We weren't going to leave you alone when Buckbeak – well, you know…" Ron trails off awkwardly, shifting in his chair.

"Speaking of Buckbeak, where is he?" Hermione asks, smoothly moving the conversation away from Rom's utter lack of tact. She was right – lately, Hagrid had taken to keeping the hippogriff in his hut so he wouldn't be lonely; now, however, the beast was nowhere to be found.

"'E's in me pumpkin patch," Hagrid explains. "Thought he migh' like some o' the fresh air before…" he trails off sorrowfully as another round of great, loud sobs shakes his frame.

I reach over to tentatively pat his hip – the only part of him I could reach – and bite my lip. "There, there, Hagrid, it'll be alright."

"Thank yeh, Orissa…" he stammers, loudly blowing his nose in a handkerchief the size of my face. "But the Ministry-"

"The Ministry doesn't know a damned thing about justice," I tell him bluntly, ignoring Hermione's reprimand at my language as I hop onto the counter, leaning back against the windowsill.

"Yeah," Hermione agrees with a nod. "You remember the notes I gave you, and you'll be-" She's cut off by a loud shattering noise: one of the pots behind me had suddenly and randomly burst into shards, startling me enough to make me fall off the counter.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," I grumble, glaring half-heartedly at Ron, who was nearly in hysterics. "What was that?"

Even Hermione seemed to be at a loss, but Harry pipes up with, "It could've been a spell."

I frown thoughtfully, but I'm interrupted by Hermione's loud yelp. I watch in concern as she puts a hand to the back of her head. "Something hit me!"

"Do _you_ know a spell that does that?"

Hagrid cuts into the conversation. "Yeh should really be goin' now, the Ministry will be here-"

As if on cue, a polite, measured knock resonates through the hut.

"That's them," I whisper, glancing nervously around.

"Go on, now," Hagrid whispers, herding us out the back door. "Don' let anyone know yeh were here."

I nod quickly before ducking under the Cloak, crowding in the other three as we practically run away from the hut, wanting to be as far away as possible when…it…happened.

We eventually stop on a rocky hill near an external hall of the castle, Ron and Hermione panting while Harry and I were just barely out of breath, thanks to Wood's relentless training drills.

"Hagrid has to win this," Hermione pleads desperately. "He _has_ to."

I nod, but the grim look the boys and I share over her head say he probably won't win.

We can't see the hut itself, but even from here we can hear the proceedings.

"On this day, June the sixth of the year 1993, representatives from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, do hereby bear witness the execution of the hippogriff known as Buckbeak, owned by Rubeus F. Hagrid…"

They drone on about the court case for a while, along with other formalities that will only matter to the record-keepers and dusty, old history books, until they reach the inevitable "If you'll just sign here, Hagrid…"

I grimace, bowing my head and grimacing as there's a final sob from Hagrid, the quiet sound of an axe being lifted, then a _swoosh_ …followed by a _thud._

It was done. They'd actually done it.

I grab Harry's hand as Hermione buries her head in his shoulder, crying quietly. My own eyes were suspiciously misty as I looked at Ron, who looked utterly devastated that months of hard work had just been destroyed by the same people that paid for almost all of his family's income.

"We should head back," I suggest after a minute. "Dinner will be served soon."

They all nod, and we begin the trek back to the castle, our footsteps heavy with everything we'd just heard.

The mood is broken, though, when Ron's pocket begins squirming.

"It's Scabbers," he explains, bringing out the rat and holding it firmly. "He won't hold still!"

"Maybe it's the full moon," I tease him. "Makes animals go _wild_."

I watch Hermione stiffen briefly out of the corner of my eye, but I wave her off – Lupin was fine and probably in his office at the moment, not posing any danger to us. At least not at the moment, because it was still light out.

Ron rolls his eyes at me, still struggling to get a hold on the rat until he suddenly drops Scabbers like he'd been burnt. "He _bit_ me!"

Scabbers scurries off into the darkness and Ron gives chase, leaving the rest of us no choice but to follow or lose track of them both.

The rat leads us, for some reason, to the Whomping Willow, and I tense in anticipation of the swinging tree branches, but the tree's strangely still – before I can comment on that, a sound reaches my ears that makes me stop dead in my tracks.

The sound of padded feet moving over grass…I knew that sound very well.

"Look o-"

My warning is cut off by a massive black shape bursting forth and leaping towards Harry, but before I have time to draw my wand it's already bowled him over and is moving again; and then I get my first good look at the creature.

It's the big, black dog from the forest, the one that had challenged me in the forest. _Why was it attacking us?_

The dog was for Ron now, who had recaptured Scabbers and was on his feet – not that it mattered when a three-foot-tall dog grabs your arm and begins dragging you.

I snap out of my shock and quickly cast a Stunning Spell, but it misses the dog's back by several inches. The beast drags Ron off into the darkness…

" _Lum –_ Oomph!" Something heavy collides with my chest, knocking the wind out of my lungs and sending me flying back a few feet.

" _Lumos!_ "

The light of Harry's wand reveals what hit me – the Whomping Willow, its branches waving wildly in the wind. The light also shows the dog dragging Ron through a gap in the roots, even when he wraps a leg around a root to try and anchor himself – it breaks with a sickeningly loud crack _._

"We need to get through to the trunk." I wince as I stand up, gently prodding my ribs to make sure nothing's broken. I duck a smaller branch and spring forward to grab my wand where it had fallen out of my hand.

"There's no way to do that," Hermione reports glumly. "The branches are moving too fast."

"Hermione, you're the brightest witch in our class," I remind her. "If a dog can get in, so can you."

She gives me a small smile, but it's quickly taken over by a lip-biting anxiety as she tries to come up with a solution.

I tear my gaze away from watching her as something soft brushes up against my leg, looking down to see a familiar ginger cat slip past me, heading for the tree. "Crookshanks, no!"

But the cat just nimbly darts between the branches and reaches the trunk, pressing a knot in the bark that makes the tree suddenly freeze, not even a leaf moving – it was like it had been turned to stone.

"How-?"

"He knows that dog," Harry reveals, already following the cat into the gap in the roots. "I've seen them together."

I frown at that as we duck into a dark, stone passageway under the roots. Animals don't "know" each other, at least not in the sense that humans do. Not _normal_ animals, anyways.

"Where are we?" Hermione whispers.

"Not sure," I grunt. "This shows up on the Map, but I have no idea where we're headed."

"That's reassuring," Harry mutters from behind us.

I ignore him as I step out into a room, stretching as I did so. I move aside to let Harry and Hermione in, lighting my wand as I did so in order to get a good look at our surrounding.

The room is, in a word, old. Or maybe disgusting. The paint is peeling, there's stains on the floor, all the furniture is smashed, the windows are boarded up, and there's claw marks in everything, like someone had let an angry tiger loose in here.

"I think…we're in the Shrieking Shack," Hermione says slowly.

I raise an eyebrow at the damage around us as Harry takes the words out of my mouth: "Ghosts don't do that."

A thump from upstairs makes up all jump, and by some unspoken agreement, we quickly move towards the door, running down a hall and up a dangerously crumbling staircase, stopping before one more door, behind which I could hear moaning – and purring?

I brush off the confusion and grip my wand firmly, sharing a determined look with Harry and Hermione and a nod, mouthing a countdown. _Three, two, one…_

We force the door and step through, wands at the ready and defensive spells on our tongues-

-only to find Crookshanks purring at us and Ron moaning in pain on the floor.

I lower my wand and stare at the cat in confusion, taking note that the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end.

"Ron!" Hermione gasps, relieved, as she and Harry go over to him. "Are you alright?"

Ron shakes his head wildly. "Not a dog," he moans. It's _him_ … _he's an Animagus…_ "

Everything starts falling into place – the other black dog, just slightly bigger than I was, the odd feeling of recognition I had gotten – just like I had before school started –

The door closes behind us with a _click_. I can hear footsteps as Harry and Hermione gasp at the person standing behind me.

I sigh and turn on my heel to face _him_ – the bane of my existence for the past nine months.

"Hi, _Dad._ "


	39. Chapter 38

If an outsider were to walk into the Shrieking Shack on the night of June 6th, 1994, they'd see two terrified children (one with a broken leg), one child angry beyond measure, and a fourth child lounging in a casual stance and clothes, looking at a man that may or may not be related to her with an even stare and a bit of a challenge.

There's no open hostility between us. You'd think everything was okay.

And you couldn't be farther from wrong _– nothing_ was okay.

Absolutely nothing.

Because what do you say to your father for the first time in twelve years, when he's trying to kill you and your friends?

Nothing, apparently, because he makes the first move with Ron's wand. " _Expelliarmus!"_

I have no choice but to let go as my wands twists itself out of my hand, along with Harry's and Hermione's, to land in my – his – Black's hand.

His grey eyes (just like mine) flit between Harry and I as he takes a step forward. "I knew you'd come."

"People do tell me I'm just like you," I deadpan. "So far, I've taken it as an insult."

"I could understand why. Now, step aside."

I square my shoulders. "Like _hell,_ old man."

I think I see a smile brighten his sunken face, but it's gone before I can be sure. "Please, Orissa, I don't need you getting hurt too."

"You can't kill Harry without getting through us first," Ron protests, and I glance back to see him upright, but clinging to Harry in order to stay that way.

I turn back to face Black, lifting my chin defiantly. "You'd have to kill _me_ first – although I don't suppose you'd care, would you? You left me."

The pain on his face is more pronounced now. "Orissa, please, you have to listen to me – you will regret it if you don't –"

I'm momentarily stunned by Sirius Black, mass murderer, begging me for anything, and it takes me a while to stutter out, "Why should I listen to you?"

"What do I have to gain by tricking you, 'Rissy?"

I sneer at the nickname, surprised that he even knew it, before giving him an appraising look. He did have a point – what could he possibly gain by lying to me? The Sirius Black standing in front of me didn't match the one in the picture I had in my nightstand: that one had well-kept, glossy, neck-length hair, pearly white teeth, and a lean strength about him.

But that was over fifteen years ago. This was 1993.

 _This_ man had matted, dirty hair that reached his elbows, rotten, yellow teeth, and a skeletal quality about him.

This man was desperate.

I hesitate for only a moment, but a moment is all Harry needs to lunge forward, slamming painfully into my back. " _Why_ are you _helping_ him?!"

"Harry," I grunt, digging my heels in to hold him back, "just listen – please, just listen – and I swear to Merlin if he's guilty I'll _help_ you kill him," I vow.

Harry doesn't seem to be listening. "HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" he roars, flailing against me. "You're just as bad, _sympathizing_ with HIM! You _traitor_!"

I'm so shocked by his words that I let him go, and he roughly pushes me down and grabs Black, both of them going down in a tangle of limbs.

I scramble out of the way as a ginger blur streaks past me, Crookshanks sinking his claws into Harry's forearm.

I step in as Black gets Harry by the throat, muttering something about waiting so long. I bodily pull the man off my god-brother, dumping him unceremoniously a few feet away.

"You're a right bastard, you know that?" I snarl at him. "I mean, sure, you've _waited._ You were in such a hurry to leave that night. You were certainly in a hurry to break in here. And now you're in quite the hurry to finish the job if you will. But it's all okay, because you _waited._ "

"You don't understand," he pleads, his dull grey eyes finding my own.

"I understand enough," I snap. "I-"

I'm cut off by footsteps below us – someone else was in the Shack.

"WE'RE IN HERE!" Hermione screams. "HURRY – IT'S SIRIUS BLACK!"

I grimace at her volume just before the door swings inward with a burst of red sparks, revealing not Dumbledore, Aurors, or even Snape; but Professor Lupin, of all people.

I tilt my head in a fashion reminiscent of my Animagus form. "Pro…professor?"

He doesn't even acknowledge me, keeping his eyes on Black as he flicks his own wand. " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Harry's wand flies out of his hand, along with the three Hermione had been holding. Harry looked confused as to why he hadn't killed Black, but a wave a relief washes over me; I hadn't come this close to getting some answers to have it end here.

"Where is he, Sirius?" Lupin asks in an incredibly tense voice, and I give him a confused look – Lupin wasn't blind, and Harry was standing right there…unless Harry wasn't the target…

Black confirms my suspicions as he points at Ron, who looks around, bewildered.

"But why-?" Lupin breathes, staring at Ron, or at least in his direction. "Why hasn't he changed by now? Unless _he_ was…unless you switched without telling me…"

Black nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Lupin's face.

Very slowly, Lupin lowered his wand, his hands shaking as he reached out a hand, helping Black up and pulling his into a hug.

My jaw drops for a moment before I clench it and storm up to the two adults. "Oh- _kay_ ," I grit out. "Someone had better start giving me answers."

The break apart and Black stares at me. "Orissa-"

"No," I snap, rules and respect be damned. "I have been lied to my entire life and then hated for the past nine months. Because of – because of _whatever_ is going on here. I want an explanation."

Lupin nods calmly, but we're both startled by a screech behind us.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!"

"Hermione," I sigh.

"You – you-"

"'Mione-"

"You and him-!"

"Hermione," Lupin tries.

"I haven't told anyone!" she shrieks hysterically. "I've been covering for you!"

My eyes widen as I realize what she's talking about. "Hermione, shut up!"

"Hermione, please listen to me," Lupin begs. "I can explain-"

Harry interrupts sharply. "All this time, I've trusted you! And you've been his _friend!_ "

I step between them before Harry can get riled up again. "Calm down," I order, laying a hand on his shoulder before fixing Lupin with a look. "You better know what you're doing."

"No, Ori!" Hermione begs. "Don't trust him! He's been helping your father into the castle, he wants you dead too, don't you remember what we found-"

"I do," I argue. "That doesn't mean anything."

"But Snape said-"

I sneer and begin moving towards her, but Lupin stops me with a hand firmly on my shoulder. "Enough." He looks down at me. "How long have you known?"

"Since…" I do some mental calculations. "Since around November, I think. I haven't paid it much thought."

"Professor Snape assigned us an essay on werewolves," Hermione explains quietly.

"And then all it took was a consultation of a lunar chart or two," I finish.

"Smart girl." I whip around to stare at Black, who was looking at me with a small smile, mixed with – was that _pride_?

I stare at him incredulously for a while, eventually tuning back in just in time to catch the tail end of Lupin's sentence.

"-can't deny that I am a werewolf," he admits sadly. Ron makes a strangled noise and tries to stand again, falling back down with a whimper. Lupin moves to help, but a look of intense fear takes over Ron's features.

" _Get away from me, werewolf!_ "

I roll my eyes at the redhead, cuffing him over the head before helping him over to the four-poster bed in the corner.

"For what it's worth," I offer as I walk back over to the main crowd, "I don't care."

Lupin smiles at me before turning back to everyone else. "I have _not_ been helping Sirius, if you'll let me explain…here." He tosses us our wands, dropping his own. "Now you're armed, and we aren't. Happy?"

I run my fingers nervously over the smooth ebony of my wand, pleased that even Harry's too stunned to react.

"If you weren't helping him," I ask slowly, my eyes flitting over to where the convict sat on the bed, as far away from Ron as possible, "then how'd you know we were here?"

"The Marauder's Map," Lupin reveals. "I was examining it-"

"Wait," I interrupt. "How did _you_ get it in the first place?" I ask. "Last I checked, it was in my bag."

"Er, I may have gotten it confiscated," Harry confesses quietly, causing me to glare at him. "Blame Snape!"

"Or I could blame you for taking my stuff," I drawl. " _My_ stuff. Not yours. Ask. Yeah?"

"Yeah," he grumbles, and I turn back to Lupin.

"Okay, so you were looking at the Map," I urge, eager to get back on track. "And?"

"And I saw you four venture down to Hagrid's. I thought you might want to be there when his hippogriff, even when he told you not to…" he glances significantly at me, and I grin. "Anyways, on the way back, I spotted a fifth person, nearly blending with Ron's name."

"There wasn't a fifth person," I deny, narrowing my eyes.

"No, not a fifth _person_ ," Lupin agrees, nodding. "But what, exactly, was under that Cloak?"

"You know about the Cloak?" Harry asks curiously.

"Of course. The number of times I watch your father – your father _s_ ," he corrects with a glance my way, "disappear under that thing…" he waves a dismissive hand. "But what was under it, I ask you?"

"Me, Harry, Hermione," I begin, ticking off names on my fingers. "Ron…and Scabbers was in his pocket. But animals don't show up on the Map."

Lupin nods. "You're brighter than they give you credit for, Orissa," he praises, and I glance down at my shoes. "Animals don't show up, no. And Scabbers _wouldn't_ have…if he was a rat."

"What are you talking about?" Ron demands. "Of course he's a rat!"

"That's not a rat," Black croaks. "It's a wizard."

"An Animagus," Lupin announces, "by the name of Peter Pettigrew."

Silence reigns for almost a full minute, before-

"You're both mental."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Peter Pettigrew is _dead_!"

Ignoring Ron, Hermione, and Harry's outbursts, I just rock back on my heels. "Y'know, dead people usually stay that way," I inform him with more calm than I was feeling at the moment.

Lupin nods and replies. "Unless, of course, they happen to be an easily disguisable rodent that can slip away in the confusion."

"So…you _didn't_ kill him?" Harry asks, slowly turning to Black.

"I wanted to," the man growls. "But he outsmarted me for once…something that won't happen again!" He lunges for Scabbers, causing Ron to scream in pain as Black falls on his broken leg.

I dart forward, grabbing his bony wrists and shoving him back down, jabbing my wand at him. " _Locomotor Mortis!_ "

"No, Sirius," Lupin scolds, as if talking to a small child. "They deserve to know-"

"That would be nice," I drawl irritably.

Both men glare at me, and I just glower back.

"Fine," Lupin sighs, moving to lean against the wall. "This all began when I got bitten…maybe if I hadn't been so foolish…"

The convict on the bed makes a derisive noise at that.

"Anyways, I was bitten when I was a small child. My parents tried everything but despite everything...we weren't sure if I would be able to go to school," he explains. "This potion Professor Snape is brewing for me is a very new invention that allows me to keep my mind when I transform – simply curl up under my desk and wait."

"But before that, I turned into a fully-fledged monster once a month-"

"And so does every girl," I quip, drawing chuckles from the majority of the room.

Lupin rolls his eyes before continuing. "So when I came here, to Hogwarts, certain precautions were taken. This tree, this Shack-" he waves a hand around us. "They were all built _because_ I came to Hogwarts. The house provided a safe place to transform, and the Whomping Willow kept anyone from coming too close when I was dangerous."

I snort. _Well, at least it does its job._

"Beyond that, though, the best part of coming to school was that I finally got friends," Lupin grins nostalgically. "Three fantastic friends – Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and, of course, your father, Harry – James Potter. And I knew I wouldn't be able to hide from them forever, though I did try – I made up all sorts of lies about how my mother was sick, and I had to visit her…it didn't work, of course, they found out the truth in our second year and immediately set out to help me.

"How'd they help?" I ask curiously, being drawn into the tale.

"They became Animagi," he admits, and I can barely keep the shock and awe of my face as Harry gasps to my right. "The process is a dangerous one, which is why the Ministry keeps a close eye on anyone trying it-"

 _Well, that they know of, anyways,_ I silently muse with a mental smirk.

"But in our fifth year, they finally managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will."

"And this helps you…how?"

"A werewolf is only a danger to people," he explains patiently. "They would accompany me every full moon – Sirius and James were big enough animals to match a werewolf, and Peter was small enough to slip various places undetected."

"Including sewers," Black interjects, and Lupin nods.

"And together, we explored more of Hogwarts' grounds than any student had ever seen before…which gave us the idea for the Marauder's Map. We created it together, the four of us – I'm Moon, Peter is Wormtail, Sirius is Padfoot, and James was Prongs."

He keeps talking, but his voice is drowned out by the sudden sound of blood rushing in my ears.

 _Padfoot._ The name from the memory – the name from the Map – whenever the Dementors came close-

I was hearing my father. He was the one laughing, the one screaming at _Peter…_

Dementors replay a person's worst memories, Professor Lupin and Dumbledore had told me, and I couldn't be remembering something that _never happened._

Meaning that it _did_ happen – Bl – my father never betrayed the Potters, Peter did. He never blew up a street and killed thirteen people, Peter did – and he only killed twelve, the rat himself escaping somehow. It wasn't that inconceivable that Pettigrew, James, and my father had become Animagi at fifteen – I'd managed it at thirteen, hadn't I?

"Ori!" I'm snapped out of my revelation by a hand waving in front of my face. "Have you been listening?"

"Er, no."

"Well, we were _saying_ that we know why Snape hates you now," she explains. "He-"

"That's nice," I cut her off, stepping around her to face Ron. "Ron, can you please hand over the rat?"

"What? No!" he exclaims, pulling the now shrieking rat towards him. "He's not Pettigrew, he's Scabbers! Ori, you know that!"

I shake my head. "No, I thought I _knew_ that. Ron, please, just hand over the rat and no one gets hurt."

"Are you _threatening_ me?!" Ron asks incredulously, and I don't get a chance to reply as Scabbers – Pettigrew – manages to claw his way out of Ron's grasp. He doesn't get very far, though, before my Quidditch-honed reflexes grab him firmly.

"We aren't playing that game," I mutter, walking over to a small table in the center of the room and setting the rat down; pinning him with one hand, I use the other to give my wand a flick. " _Petrificus Totalus._ "

"Good girl," Lupin praises, and I nod before stepping back, but a loud creak makes everyone go stock-still.

"Ori," Harry hisses.

"It wasn't me," I breathe.

The entire room seems to hold it's breath, the tension in the room almost palpable. Black – the elder one – and Lupin were both entirely focused on the rat-sicle on the table, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry were all watching them. I desperately wished that I could change forms to be able to see, smell, and hear more.

But as it turns out, there was no need.

"Hello, wolf," a hauntingly familiar voice sneers, and I'm left looking at the person I least wanted to see at the moment.

Professor Severus Snape.


	40. Chapter 39

Upon seeing Professor Snape, I'd like to say that I remained calm. I'd like to say that I was able to talk to him politely, even in the tense situation we were in.

But I'd known Snape for three years now, and I'd never once had a polite conversation with the man. Not to mention the fact that there were six – technically seven – people in the room right now that were breaking some serious laws.

So I did what _I_ saw sensible: I cursed at him in every language I knew, using words I'd learned from Hagrid, Filch, and Vernon Dursley on his worst nights, ending with "…you son of a _basilisk_."

"Quiet, you insolent girl," he growls, then turns to look at Harry, holding up the Invisibility Cloak. "I found this at the base of the Willow…thank you, Potter, it was very useful."

"How are you even here?" Harry demands.

"A good question," Snape nods, his eyes glittering. "I've just been in your office, Lupin, to deliver a certain potion…lucky for me, there was a map laying out on the desk…"

"Bloody hell," I mutter.

"One glance told me all I needed to know. I'd always thought you were conspiring with Black, and here's proof…"

"Severus," Lupin says softly. "Let me explain – Black isn't here to kill Harry or Orissa-"

"So that's two for Azkaban tonight," Snape continues. "I wonder how Dumbledore will react to your betrayal as well…"

"Is a schoolboy grudge really worth sending people to Azkaban for?" Lupin challenges.

A loud bang echoes around the Shack as black ropes shoot from Snape's wand, snaring Lupin around the wrists, ankles, and mouth.

Black roars and steps forward, somehow having broken my Leg-Locking Curse, but Snape's wand is pointed between his eyes. My wand is in my hand in an instant, pointed at _Snape's_ head.

"Give me one good reason to do it, Black, and I will," he whispers dangerously.

"I can give you a few good reasons _not_ to do it," I offer quietly, hopefully hiding the tremor in my voice.

"QUIET," the professor roars, his wand snapping over to me. I duck just in time to miss the jet of light, hearing it hit the wall behind me with a crack _._

"Orissa, are you okay?" Black asks quietly, and I nod as I slowly stand, never taking my eyes off Snape.

"Such a touching moment," he says dryly. "Between a mutt and his obedient little puppy…I wonder, are fleas hereditary?"

Black steps forward again, but he doesn't get a chance…because I get there first.

I lunge forward, forgetting for a moment that Snape was a teacher and I was a student and that I could get expelled for this. I tackle Snape roughly, sending us both to the floor.

"You bloody git," I snarl. "What gives you the right-"

"Release me this _instant_ , Black!"

I don't listen, of course, instead resorting to very Slytherin-ish tactics, smashing my fist into his abnormally large, hooked nose and sending blood flying everywhere. He throws me off roughly, leaving me sprawled on the floor, unarmed, as Snape goes for his wand-

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Four voices cry out at once, and there's a bang to rival one of the twin's projects before Snape goes flying back, hitting the far wall and sliding down limply.

I look around to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all lowering their wands, along with Bla-my father, who had recovered my wand from where I'd dropped it upon lunging at Snape. I pick myself up off the floor, dusting off my pants before accepting my wand back from my father. "Ebony. Very nice."

I slowly nod at his words, not saying anything as I turn on my heel and, after letting an unbound Lupin _Scourgify_ my blood-smeared knuckles, look at the rat still frozen on the table. "Can we get a move on?"

"Certainly," Lupin agrees, moving with Black – my father, I mean - to face the rat, gently nudging me back and out of the way. "Ready, Sirius?"

"More than ready, Remus," my father replies, and I would've laughed if it weren't for the bloodthirsty smile on his face as they both point their wands at the rat. "On three. One...two...three…"

" _FInite Incantatem!_ "

" _Formam mutatio!_ "

As soon as the Body-Bind in released, the rat takes off, but it doesn't get too far before the second spell – a bluish-white light – envelopes it. The rat stops, but suddenly it doesn't look like a rat anymore – there's a head, and arms, followed by legs, and then there's a pudgy, glassy-eyed man sitting on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

Peter Pettigrew.

My stomach clenches in rage as I stare at the man, and I can feel that familiar anger – the same type I felt back in July and then on Halloween – seep back into my blood, making my skin tingle as magic wells around me.

This man was the reason why Harry had no parents, not Sirius Black. This man was the reason why _I_ had no parents - or even _a_ parent. This man was why I had to be lied to for thirteen years...why my father was thrown in Azkaban…

"Orissa, don't!"

Hermione's shout brings me back to reality, and I find myself standing over Pettigrew, my wand pointed at his heart and a spell on my lips. I didn't even know _what_ spell, just that it probably wasn't a Tickling Hex.

I clench my jaw and force myself to lower my wand, if only so the rat could confess before he died. Harry steps forward and pulls me back to stand next to him and Hermione.

"Why'd you stop me?" I ask my bushy-haired friend.

"I didn't want to see _you_ go to Azkaban," she replies. "Not now, when you've actually got a shot at real happiness."

I sigh and give a minute nod, leaning back against the wall to watch the proceedings.

"Hello, Peter," Lupin says pleasantly, as if they were just two friends meeting for tea. "Long time no see."

"R-Remus," the man squeaks – apparently after more than a decade of being a rat, some qualities stuck. "S-Sirius! My old f-friends!"

 _Far from_ , I mentally scoff.

"Peter," my father says evenly, a devilish grin showing all his yellowed teeth. "I've waited so long for this day."

"R-Remus, h-help me!" the small man wails. "He's g-going to kill m-me, like he killed L-Lily and J-J-James!"

"But he didn't kill Lily and James, did he, Peter?" Lupin asks. "He wasn't the Secret Keeper. He didn't sell them out to Voldemort."

Pettigrew flinches at the name, and my father notices.

"What, can't bear to hear your old master's name, _Wormtail?_ Can't blame you – his people can't be happy with you, not after that Halloween. I've heard them cursing your name, day and night, in Azkaban," he mentions offhandedly.

"Maybe that's why you hid for so long," Lupin theorizes. "You weren't scared of Sirius; no, you were scared of what your little _friends_ would do to you if they found you."

"B-But he's one of t-them!" Pettigrew shrieks, pointing a trembling finger at the elder Black. "H-He broke out of Azkaban – V-V-Voldemort taught him some tricks, I s-suppose!"

"He has a point," I pipe in.

"T-Thank you! See?"

"No," I shake my head. "Not the Voldemort bit. The other part – how did you get out of Azkaban, if not by Dark magic?"

My father sighs. "I'm – I'm actually not quite sure. Azkaban…is not a nice place. Transforming into Padfoot helped with the effects of the Dementors, and eventually, I noticed that I was skinny enough to slip through the bars of my cell and swim to safety."

I nod and turn back to Pettigrew. "Happy now?"

Pettigrew just squeaks. His eyes were darting to the boarded-up windows and the door, and I draw my wand, simply as an extra precaution. The rat sees this and shrinks back fearfully.

"Enough talk," my father snaps. "Let's get on with it already."

Lupin nods, and they both level their wands at Pettigrew, but then Lupin hesitates.

"Remus?"

"Professor?"

"I want to know why," Lupin whispers. "Why'd you do it, Peter? Why did you betray them?"

"You d-don't understand," Peter pleads. "H-He would've killed me!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" my father roars. "You should've died, like we would have done for you! We were brothers, Peter, and you threw it all away! Just like that! Why?!"

Pettigrew doesn't reply, and both men sigh before raising their wands again. Pettigrew suddenly scrambles over to Ron. "Ron…I've been a good pet…a good friend…don't let them do this…"

"I let you sleep in my _bed_ ," Ron said with a heavy tone of disgust.

Pettigrew goes to Hermione next. "Sweet girl…clever girl…you wouldn't let them do this…"

Hermione makes a strangled sound of horror and slowly backs away, trembling slightly.

Pettigrew crawls over to Harry. "Harry…you look…just – just like James…just like him…"

Harry kicks him away, not saying a word. Pettigrew just moves on to kissing the hem of my robes. "Orissa…clever girl…don't let your father become a killer…"

He's suddenly yanked back by two bony hands, being thrown back onto the ground by an irate Sirius Black. "How _dare_ you speak to my daughter?How _dare_ you face her?!"

I just stalk forward, kick Pettigrew in the face – I was wearing stiff-toed leather boots – before returning to my earlier position.

"Shall we kill him together, Remus?" my father asks.

"I think we should," Lupin agrees grimly.

They raise their wands, and I keep my eyes on Pettigrew, intent on watching his end – a sort of poetic justice.

Harry, though, has other ideas. "NO!"

Stunned, I snap my head over to look at him, where he stands between Pettigrew and the other two Marauders.

"You can't kill him," Harry gasps. "Please."

"Why not?" I demand, crossing my eyes over my chest. "Harry, this is why we don't have parents – or didn't, in any case," I add upon glancing at the other Black.

"And if we do this, you'll lose your parent again," he points out. "If he dies, nobody will know the truth. We can take him to the castle, let them lock him away, but you can't kill him."

I pause to consider this for a long, long moment before giving a nod, barely a twitch of the head.

"Thank you," Pettigrew sobs, flinging his arms around Harry's neck. "Thank you…so selfless…"

"I'm not doing this for you," Harry snaps, throwing the rat off him. "I'm doing this because – because I don't think my father would want you becoming murderers on his behalf."

"At least, not for real this time," I quip.

My father laughs – it's dry, strangled, and raspy, and it's really more of a choking sound, but it _is_ a laugh. "Right. So we'll take him to the castle."

Lupin nods and, stepping around Harry, mutters a word or two that makes thin ropes shoot from his wand this time, wrapping Pettigrew from head to toe.

"What about Snape?" Hermione asks softly, the first words she'd spoken in a while.

"There's nothing seriously wrong with him," Lupin assures us, checking Snape's pulse. "You were just, ah, overenthusiastic." He gives me a pointed look, and I turn my eyes to the ceiling and whistle innocently. "We can take him like this. _Mobilicorpus._ "

Snape is jerked up, floating limply in mid-air like the ugliest puppet I'd ever seen. Lupin moves on to splint Ron's leg with a healing spell I hadn't known before approaching Pettigrew once more. "Two of us need to be bound to…this…just in case. I'll be one, and-"

I'm about to offer, but Ron speaks up first. "I'll do it."

I blink and look at him, _really_ look at him, and I'm not surprised to see that he looks equal parts devastated and angry. I don't blame him for taking this personally – if I had been harboring a mass-murderer for over a decade, I wouldn't be feeling too good either.

Lupin nods and my father conjures up a set of heavy manacles, locking Pettigrew's left arm to Ron and his right to Lupin. "Alright, here we go, come on…"

"Ori, wait!" Hermione's warning makes me look up, startled. "Where's your band?"

"Band?" My father asks, glancing at us curiously.

"Back in October, the Ministry gave me a monitoring band because they thought I was helping you," I explain, watching his eyes darken and continuing before he can say anything. "But it's gone now, see?" I motion to my ankle, where the only unusual thing is a ring of black scorch marks.

"Did you take it off?" Lupin asks curiously.

I shake my head. "It was there earlier. I swear it was."

"It's okay, we believe you," my father placates. "Do you know where it could've gone?"

I shake my head again. "It's not important," I argue. "If it's gone, then we aren't in any danger of the Aurors coming, and-"

"They threatened to _arrest_ you?!"

"Yes, also unimportant," I wave a dismissive hand. "I'll find out what happened later. Can we move now? We _do_ have a castle to get to and a man to free, after all."

Hermione gives me a dubious look, but I simply head the way out of the Shack, Crookshanks following close behind.

It's night out on the grounds, meaning that my band, had it been on, would've been alerted. So wherever it was, I was glad it wasn't here.

"Hi." I turn and give my father a small grin as he falls into step next to me. "So, I don't know if anyone's told you, but…I'm your father."

"Er…yeah," I scratch the back of my neck. "Um…hello."

"Hello to you too," he laughs softly. "You look-"

"Just like you," I nod. "I know. The entire school hates me for it."

The man next to me sighs. "They're stupid. Don't listen to a word they say." He pauses. "Do you know what this means? Turning Pettigrew in?"

"You'd be free," I realize suddenly. "You'd be really free."

"Yes," he nods, with a slight smile that fades as he continues. "I'd understand if you wanted to stay with the Dursley's, but…if you wanted to, maybe, get a home…or something…"

"You mean I could leave the Dursley's?" I ask eagerly, and he nods. "Please."

"What?"

"Please let me live with you," I repeat, not caring if I was begging. "When can I leave?"

"Whoa there," he teases. "I need to be freed first. You sure you want to live with a crazy old man?"

"Well, first, you're, what, thirty-three? Thirty-four? That's not that old. And you're my father, for Merlin's sake, why _wouldn't_ I want to live with you?"

"I wasn't sure," he admits. "After all I've done to you…"

"And what, pray tell, have you done?"

"I left you alone when you weren't even a year and a half old. I went off to hunt Pettigrew because I thought you were safe, and…"

"I _am_ safe," I argue. "Well, except for when I do stupid stuff, but a certain werewolf's told me _that's_ hereditary."

"That it is," he laughs, and I'm suddenly reminded of the Sirius Black from the 1978 photograph. "I've got so many stories to tell you…" he trails off suddenly, his eyes widening at something above me.

I turn, following his gaze to where the wispy summer clouds were parting to reveal a full moon, bathing all of us in moonlight.

All of us…including Professor Lupin, who goes rigid and begins trembling and groaning and shifting…

Until I find myself looking at the slobbering, rabid jaws of a fully grown, fully-fledged, and fully _dangerous_ werewolf.


	41. Chapter 40

"Run!" my father orders instantly, herding Harry, Hermione and I behind him. Normally, yes, running from the werewolf _would_ be a good idea, a fantastic idea, but now when Ron was chained both to the werewolf and the traitor.

"But Ron-"

"Leave him to me!" he shouts. "Go! Now!" And then he's gone and big, black, bear-like dog is charging towards the werewolf, body-slamming the other canine. Both go down in a whirlwind of furry limbs, loud growls emanating from the pair.

I watch, mesmerized, for a moment before snapping into action, slipping my wand into my back pocket. "Hermione, keep an eye on the rat for me."

"Ori, what do you think you're doing?" Hermione demands shakily.

"Helping," I reply simply, rolling my shoulders out and praying to whomever could hear that this wouldn't hurt.

"But – but that's a _werewolf!_ I know you have a reckless streak, but-"

"I'm not going in there like _this_ ," I roll my eyes. "I'm reckless, not stupid. But werewolves aren't a danger to animals, remember?"

"What do you-"

I transform mid-sentence, watching as the world twists and mutates, shapes losing some of their color and yet growing sharper in the dark at the same time as my senses sharpen, my nose twitching at the scent of fear and anger that was coming from the other dog and the dog that didn't quite look like a dog.

I shake out my coat and look up at Hermione and Harry, who were wearing twin expressions of shock and awe. I give them a soft huffing noise before turning and heading straight for Moony and Padfoot, barking loudly to gain the wolf's attention. It's mind is like nothing I've ever encountered before – scared and tense and so, _so_ angry.

But there's also a deeply numbing feeling of loneliness; I knew, from my research, that dogs, and by extension wolves, were pack animals to the core – that's why my Animagus form despised betrayal. But this wolf – Lupin – had been alone for twelve years, at least.

What had that done to his psyche?

I'm ripped out of my internal monologue by Moony bucking me off, causing me to fly back a few feet and land in some shrubbery.

"Ori, are you okay?" Harry calls, and I give a confirming bark. "Okay, well, Pettigrew's getting away!"

I duck into the shrubs and quickly shift back, shouting "Stun him!" before I lunge forward, sliding dangerously between the werewolf's legs before seamlessly shifting back again and leaping onto the werewolf's back.

The shock coming off the other dog was almost palpable, but it was tinged with an undercurrent of fear; suddenly, an unbidden image of Mrs. Weasley scolding the twins came to mind: " _Never do anything like that again! You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days!"_

Strange _._

I banish the thought as Moony tries to shake me off again. I decide to change tactics - sliding off, I duck low and lunge for the werewolf's strong hind legs, dodging the claws as I maneuvered so that I was looking at the back of the legs. I was looking for a certain muscle; it was on the same place in dogs, wolves, and all other related creatures. It would be able to take him down...

 _There._

I zero in on it, lunge, and bite down - werewolf tastes _horrible_ , let me tell you - letting go and jumping clear as Moony rolls down a nearby hill, followed by another black dog that was a good six inches taller than me.

Everything's quiet for a moment, save for a pair of howls that probably just belonged to something in the Forbidden Forest.

"Ori?" Hermione whispers behind me, her voice carrying the same shell shocked quality it had in the Shack.

I shake my coat out again before leading my two companions back towards the tree line of the Forest, away from the enraged werewolf. Once we've stopped a fair distance away I shift back, sinking to the ground on my knees and closing my eyes - Merlin, I was _so sore_.

"I'll take questions now," I mutter, moving a strand of hair out of my eyes.

"I - you're an Animagus?" Harry asks.

"Obviously," I snort.

"How did we not know?"

"More importantly," Hermione cuts in sharply, "is how did you do this?"

"I used secret passageways," I said first, addressing Harry, and then turn to Hermione. "A book, a potion, some Latin, and a few months."

"By _yourself_?" she asks skeptically. "But you're horrid at Potions."

"Well, yeah," I shrug. "But even you can't deny that Transfiguration is one of my best subjects."

She nods at that. "Are you registered?"

I roll my eyes. "No."

"But that's-"

"Illegal. Yes."

"Do you even care?" she demands. "You're already on a short leash - excuse the pun - with the Ministry. You can't just run around doing highly illegal things!"

"Hermione, calm down," I placate gently. "Yes, I do know it's illegal, and yes, I _do_ care. But I don't plan on telling the Ministry," I inform her simply, giving both her and Harry pleading looks. " _Please_ don't tell them."

Harry nods quietly, still looking a bit stunned. Hermione opens her mouth as if to protest, but she hesitates as something flashes across her face and she nods. "Alright. I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks, you guys," I grin. "I'd hug you, but I just fought a werewolf, and-"

I'm cut off by a scream echoing around us – a very familiar scream.

"Sirius," Harry breathes, his face as pale as the moon. I'm already moving, wand out as I sprint towards the source of the scream, soreness long forgotten. "Come on!"

I skid to a stop on a rocky section of the shores of the Black Lake, my heart dropping as I find the source of the scream.

My father was human again, on his hands and knees and surrounded by a horde of Dementors – there had to be at least a hundred of the cloaked creatures. I shudder as chills race down my spine before snapping into action, drawing my wand and racing to his side. " _Expecto Patronum!"_

Silver smoke spurts from my wand; Harry wasn't having much more luck.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ Nothing. _Come on, Orissa,_ I scold myself, _this is like the biggest practical exam of your life – you can't fail now…_

" _Expecto Patronum!"_ A little bit of smoke this time – it was better than nothing, but still…I swore and raised my wand again. _"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

Nothing but a bit of smoke. The chill in the air was increasing – I could hear my father, the one in the nightmare, screaming – the world was blurring –

" _Da! Da da da da…Dada?"_

" _Daddy loves you, Rissy, sweetheart, I promise…"_

I drag myself into focus again, my eyes finding my real father, who still and on his back. _Is he dead?_ a small voice in my head whispers.

 _No! He'll be alright – I'm going to live with him, he'll be alright…_

But everything was getting dark and blurry…I collapse onto my knees, not even feeling the rocks dig in to my skin. "Expecto…E-Expecto…"

Suddenly, just as the blackness was encroaching on the edges of my vision, a white light flares it the night…it was so _pretty_ …

 _No!_ a voice wails in my head. _The light is bad, remember? No going towards the light! Bad Orissa! Bad!_

I ignore it, reaching out a hand towards the light – it looked like an animal, tail swishing as it receded into the shadows on the opposite side of the lake.

"N-No…"

The last of my strength gives out just as the world is swallowed by darkness.

…

Awareness comes back in possibly the worst way possible: with Snape's voice.

"I'm sure you'll see to it, Minister," he was saying, "that Potter and Black are suitably punished."

"Ah, yes, of course," another voice I recognize as Minister Fudge replies. "Black, at least; Potter…well, I'm sure you can understand…we've all got a bit of a blind spot when it comes to him."

 _Not_ all _of us,_ I mentally argue. _I take none of his bull._ Still, I stay "asleep" and listen to the conversation.

"Your nose looks to be healing," the Minister comments. "I assume that was Black's work?"

"Well, yes, but Black the younger, if you can believe that. She and her friends attacked me…see this cut here?"

"Ah, well, we all suspected she'd turn out like her father, anyways."

I grit my teeth and, in a testament to my patience, manage to stay both still and quiet.

"Now, if you'll come along, I've got some paperwork for you to sign on that award…"

They leave the Hospital Wing, and I stay quiet. I stay still as Madam Pomfrey does a health check, determining Ron's leg to still be broken (duh) and that Harry and I both needed to stay in bed.

Which wasn't going to happen, given that my father was probably still on school grounds and in possession of his soul – I highly doubted that Dumbledore would allow even "mass-murderer" Sirius Black to go soulless.

I stay quiet even as she leaves, leaving the Hospital Wing mainly silent – but I don't keep up the act for much longer than that. I roll of the bed, stepping from behind the curtain surrounding my bed to see Harry, Hermione, and Ron watching me, shocked.

"How long have you been awake?" Hermione asks.

"A few minutes," I reply absently as I do a quick check for injuries - all I could see was bandages on my ankle where the band had once been. I was also no longer sore, thank you pain potions. I look around at my surroundings, finding a black bundle that has half hidden under the bed.

It's a small black satchel, with a note attached:

 _Blackie-_

 _In this bag are a few things to keep you from going mad due to boredom, although we sincerely doubt that will happen because your night thus far has been the farthest thing from boring._

 _-F & G_

 _P.S.: Feel free to drive Harry, Ron, and Hermione mad though. We encourage it._

I grin and open the bag, finding it to hold two Filibuster's Fireworks, a few trick wands, two early-model "Wiz-bang" grenades (an explosive of my own invention) and a few other prototypes the three of us had worked on throughout the school year.

I chuckle softly as I sling it over my shoulder. "Does anyone know where my father is?"

Hermione and Harry share a look before answering in the negative.

"Oh-kay...do we know if he even has his soul?"

"I can assure you he does, Miss Black," a voice answers behind me, and I turn to see Dumbledore walking into the Hospital Wing, the silver stars adorning his robes glinting.

"Can you tell us where he is?" I ask hopefully.

The headmaster shakes his head. "I'm afraid I cannot disclose the location of a wanted criminal, Miss Black, even if he is related to you."

I slump as my hopes are dashed, before straightening up again. "But, professor, he's innocent! He never killed anyone!"

"So it seems."

I blink at the cryptic answer. "Well…does the _Ministry_ know that?"

"I'm afraid not," he confesses. "They believe you've been Confounded, or that you are working for Mr. Black; the Minister cannot decide which."

I curl my lip at that. "I'm not working for my father," I snap irritably.

"Minister Fudge is a stubborn man, Orissa. Many at the Ministry believe that you have been hit with the Confundus Charm, or some such spell."

"We aren't Confunded," I snarl, crossing my arms tightly across my chest, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin defiantly – out of the corner of my eye, I can see Harry watching me like one would a bomb about to blow. "Headmaster, you have a wrongly accused man somewhere, probably still on Hogwarts grounds, and you aren't _doing_ anything."

The Headmaster gives me a long, sad look. "Do not doubt that I would take action if I could, Miss Black. But your father has not acted like an innocent man – breaking into the castle numerous times, attacking students with a knife…"

I frown and hesitantly nod, pursing my lips. "But…I was so close…if I had just a bit more time-"

Hermione interrupts me with a gasp. "Professor, do you think – could we – could it work?"

"It could," Dumbledore replies cryptically. "I suppose it could."

"What?" Harry demands, backed up by myself. "Headmaster?"

But Dumbledore doesn't reply, instead moving to leave the Hospital Wing, pausing only at the door. "Three turns should do it, Miss Granger. Oh, and Miss Black?"

"Professor?"

"You will find what you've lost on the thirteenth floor, in the fourth tower on the left. More than one innocent life can be saved tonight."

"Um...Prof-"

But Dumbledore's gone, leaving, Harry, Hermione, Ron and I staring after him in confusion and shock.

Well, Hermione didn't look too confused – in fact, she looked like she finally understood something. I wasn't sure what.

"Hermione?" Ron voices my thoughts. "What's going on? What was that?"

Hermione doesn't answer him, turning to me instead. "I know how to fix this. I know how to save Sirius."

My hand tightens on the strap of my satchel. "How?"

"Come here," she orders, waving me closer. "Huddle around me - you too, Harry-"

"Hermione, what the bloody hell is going on?" Ron demands from his hospital bed.

"Sorry, Ron," Hermione apologizes, a hand fiddling with something near her neck. "You can't come along this time – what with your leg, and all..." she gives his bandaged leg a pointed glance.

I give him an apologetic look – it was my father that broke his leg, after all – before turning back to Hermione, watching as she pulls something from beneath the collar of her robes. "What _is_ that?"

Hermione turns to the side slightly, both giving me a better look at what she was holding and hiding it from Ron. "A Time-Turner," she whispers, pulling a ringed, hourglass-shaped device from a chain beneath her collar, handing Harry and I both a section of the golden chain. "Put this around your neck."

I adjust the strap of the satchel before ducking through the chain. "What are we doing?"

"Traveling back in time," she murmurs quietly. "Three turns, just like Dumbledore said - three hours back. Enough to save Sirius."

I grin as she flips the innermost ring with the hourglass, once, twice, three times.

My grin widens as the world dissolves into a blur of color, light, and sound.

I finally had a chance to fix this – fix everything. I could make it right.


	42. Chapter 41

**I'm really, really sorry about the slow update, folks. School has really picked up lately, and I'm left with little time on my hands.**

 **This chapter's extra long to make up for it – over 4700 words! Enjoy.**

* * *

The world stopped moving after a few seconds, revealing an almost-empty castle corridor, one of the windows showing a sun that was low in the sky, but not set yet.

"It worked," Hermione breathes, awestruck next to me. "It actually worked."

I grin, but it quickly disappears as soft footsteps echo behind us, accompanied with a _very_ familiar voice in the middle of reminding someone that Trelawney was a fraud.

"Oh, buggering hell," I mutter quietly, dragging Harry and Hermione behind a nearby statue seconds before a tightly-packed group of four teenagers passes in front of us – a girl with bushy brown hair, a girl with short ebony hair, a boy with flaming red hair, and another boy with inky black, messy hair.

This was Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I; just three hours ago. Which we were seeing right now, three hours ahead of when we were really there…

I could almost _feel_ the headache coming on. _This –_ this right here? This was why time travel was banned. It gave people migraines.

" _Orissa,_ " Hermione was hissing to my right. "Come _on._ "

"Coming," I grumble, slipping from behind the statue and following her and Harry outside. "So what's the plan? It's only six – we didn't even meet Bl – I mean…Sirius – that's what I'm going to call him – until _after_ Buckbeak's execution, and that was at six."

"Weren't you listening to Dumbledore? He said _more than one innocent life can be saved tonight_. He wasn't just talking about Sirius - who else do we know who needed saving?"

"If it's Snape," I interject, "I'd like to borrow your Time-Turner and return to the present. Git doesn't need saving."

"It's not _him_ ," Hermione rolls her eyes. " _Think_ about it."

"Buckbeak," Harry breathes. "That why we're here, isn't it? The other innocent life is Buckbeak."

Hermione nods eagerly. "Now, shh, here we come-"

She's right. I watch as our little quartet appears from underneath the Cloak, knocking on Hagrid's door and disappearing inside.

"Does my hair always look like that?" Hermione asks once our past-selves are inside the hut.

"Yes," I reply without hesitation. "It's worse in the morning," I add helpfully.

"Thanks, 'Rissa," she grumbles. "You're an amazing friend."

"I just tell it like it is," I tell her absently, grinning at her sarcasm before frowning. "There's the Ministry."

"We need to leave," Hermione mutters. "No, not us," she adds at my curious look. "Past us - in there."

Harry murmurs his agreement before asking, "Can we do anything?"

Hermione looks hesitant. "We can't change time, but..." Her eyes find a small stone; it's smooth, round, and about an inch and a half in size. The bookworm seems to consider something for a moment before picking up the stone and throwing it, with force, at Hagrid's hut – there's a loud shattering sound as a vase on the windowsill breaks, and I watch myself fall off the counter with a scowl.

I give Hermione a dark look as I snatch the stone away. "Give me that." I fling it back at Hagrid's hut, snickering as it bounced off the back of Hermione's head. Granted, I hadn't thrown it like I would a Quaffle – I threw those with what Angelina had described as "an ungodly amount of rage-based force", and I didn't want to _hurt_ Hermione.

So she just glares at me as we watch ourselves leave the hut under the cover of the Cloak. "That hurt."

"So did hitting the floor," I point. "And it's not like I threw a boulder at you. I didn't throw it that hard – you've seen what that looks like."

We all wince at that, and Hermione gives me a small smile of forgiveness before we move from behind the pumpkins, creeping towards Hagrid's pumpkin as the adults went over signatures and forms inside.

Buckbeak is tied to a post in the middle of the massive orange plants, and Hermione and I stay back and watch apprehensively as Harry approaches him and bows, none of us taking our eyes off the hippogriff.

A collective sigh of relief is issued as Buckbeak bows in return, and I cautiously but quickly move to sever the rope with a muttered word and a flick of my wand. "Alright, come on, we need to move."

That was easier said than done – I don't know if you've ever tried to move a stubborn hippogriff that weighed somewhere around 500 pounds, but I have it on good authority that it isn't easy.

I can hear the official sentencing going on inside – they were going to be out here any second now, and the picture we presented – with the whole 'stealing the hippogriff' thing – wasn't good.

Harry comes over to help me, and with both of us putting our weight behind pulling the rope Buckbeak does begin to slowly move forward, but not without some literally ruffled feathers.

"Come on, you two!" Hermione hisses from behind a tree. "They'll be out at any moment!"

I sigh in frustration and then pause, pushing my section of rope at Harry and moving around to poke Buckbeak in the hindquarters with my wand. The hippogriff startles slightly before picking up his pace, and I take the rope back as we enter the Forbidden Forest again.

"You're in charge of Buckbeak," Hermione decides as we walk through the trees as quietly as possible.

"Why me?" I whine, knowingly sounding like a three-year-old, not a thirteen-year-old.

"You're both ornery," Harry suggests impishly, and I give him an _are-you-even-kidding-me-right-now?_ look before turning back to Hermione and giving her my best puppy-dog eyes – which, in my opinion, were pretty damn good, given the circumstances.

But she doesn't fall for them. "Orissa, just come on, we need to keep moving."

I huff and gripe and fashion Buckbeak a makeshift harness anyways, tugging him along as we follow ourselves at a healthy distance.

I clench my jaw as I watch Pettigrew escape from Ron. "Do you think I could catch him?"

"Yes, but you can't!" Hermione pleads, grabbing a fistful of my jacket. "You can't just run out there!"

"But he's _right there!"_ I groan. "I could just run out there, catch him, return to the present, and everything would be fine!"

"No it wouldn't!" Hermione argues. "What would you think if you saw yourself running around, chasing after Ron's pet?"

"I'd go mad," I admit hesitantly. "But what if I only saw a dog?"

"You might think you're seeing the Grim," Harry points out. "And go even madder."

"But-"

"Ori, catching Pettigrew won't help us save Sirius _or_ Buckbeak, so please sit down before-" Hermione breaks off as loud footsteps are heard coming towards us, crashing through the underbrush.

I clench my hands around the rope as Hagrid stumbles by, a bottle in one hand as he sings and sobs with drunken happiness, overjoyed that "Beaky was free, 'e was!"

It did feel good to help him, although he'd never know it was us.

The downside to this was that Buckbeak was going crazy at seeing his old owner, and as designated Hippogriff Handler, it fell to me to calm him back down. I turn and tug down on the rope with one hand, putting the other on top on his beak - dangerously close to the sharp, Do Not Touch part - and shove his head down as best I could.

"Come on, quit having separation anxiety, I'm trying to save your hide here…"

Hagrid eventually moves out of sight, and Buckbeak droops sadly. I reach over to preen the feathers on the back of his head, lowly muttering "Ungrateful bird."

We continue on through the woods for a few more minutes, coming to a stop in some trees a few yards away from the Whomping Willow.

We watch in silence as Ron runs into view, chasing Pettigrew ( _Scabbers_ , I remind myself) towards the motionless tree, followed closely by Harry, Hermione, and I.

"There's Sirius!" Harry shouts suddenly, and I look over to see a big, black shape bounding towards us, knocking Harry over and lunging at Ron, grabbing him by the leg and dragging him towards the roots of the tree. I wince as we hear Ron's leg snap, and then watch in morbid fascination as the tree starts swinging.

"I just got hit by the tree," I announce. "And so did you, Hermione – it's really weird, isn't it? Watching yourself get hurt and not feeling a thing."

Hermione and Harry both nod in agreement, and we watch as we disappear into the tree roots and the tunnel leading to the Shack.

Not thirty seconds later, footsteps sound as Dumbledore and the Committee members pass by, presumably on their way out of the school.

"Our timing sucks," I gripe. "Just a few seconds more and this entire thing could've been avoided."

"And we'd still think Sirius is a murderer," Harry reminds me, and I nod. "Right. Yeah."

I sigh as I sit down on the forest floor, one hand patting the hippogriff that lays down beside me. "So...what now?"

"We wait," Hermione offers. "We've got nothing to do until we come back out."

"And then there's Lupin's transformation, and the lake," Harry lists. "Oh, that reminds me...I think I saw...someone at the lake."

"Casting a Patronus?" I ask, and he nods. "Did you see him too?"

"No," I deny. "I _think_ I saw a Patronus, but not a person."

"Who do you think you saw?" Hermione asks curiously.

"I'm not sure...I mean, I wasn't thinking clearly, I passed out right after-"

"Harry," I cut him off forcefully. " _Who do you think you saw?_ "

"I think I saw my dad."

I blink in shock – I didn't see _that_ coming – as Hermione frowns.

"Harry," Hermione says uncomfortably, "your dad is, um, dead."

"I know that," Harry snaps in return, and I raise my hands in surrender. "But I swear it was him. He cast the Patronus, I know he did!"

"Okay, Harry," Hermione placates before looking at me. "What do you think?"

"About Harry's dad coming back?" She nods. "Well..." I begin carefully. "Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot were all on the grounds tonight. What's to say Prongs didn't show up as, I dunno, a ghost?"

"But the dead coming back isn't possible!" Hermione argues.

"Hermione, up until last September, I truly believed I was an entirely different person," I remind her. "That wasn't supposed to be possible either, and yet…" I gesture to myself. "So I'm withholding judgement on what is and is not possible."

She frowns, but nods. "Alright, if you say so."

"Look!" Harry exclaims, attracting my attention. "Here we come!"

He's right, our little parade of misfits is emerging from the tunnel: Crookshanks is first, followed by Hermione and Harry, the shackled threesome of Professor Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron, and then a floating Professor Snape, with Sirius and I bringing up the lead.

My father and I. From this distance, we almost looked normal, like we were discussing something mundane, not what we'd do once he was freed from wrongful imprisonment. And the best part was that success was only inches from my grasp, if this whole convoluted, insane, unstable plan worked. If…

"What's wrong?" Hermione asks softly, and I startle before looking over at her, confused. "You had a wistful look on your face," she explained. "What's wrong, 'Rissa?"

I sigh. "It's nothing."

"It isn't _nothing_ ," she insists, pulling me a little ways away from Harry. "Spill," she demands in a lower voice, using a tone both of us recognize – this was the tone Lavender, Pavarti, and Fay (the skanks) used when gossiping about boys or makeup or something down that alley late at night. More specifically, this was a tone girls used on their friends that were girls, and Hermione _knew_ I would cave under it.

Damn it.

I scrub a hand over my face and sigh. "I just _really_ want this to work."

"It will," she assures me, with a certainty to her words that was typical Hermione.

"But what if it doesn't?" I argue. "I want this so badly, 'Mione, _what if it doesn't work_?! What if we end up dying, or not being born at all, or screwing with our lives in the future bad enough that I end up married to Malfoy?!"

I don't know what I was expecting her reaction to be, but it sure as hell wasn't _laughter._

"Sorry," she gasps as soon as she's regained some composure. "But…we won't die, okay, because we have _magic_ , remember? And the most dangerous thing we're facing is Dementors, which you know how to fight. We won't be unborn, because we won't be going back to 1979 or 1980 – we can't. The most we could have possibly traveled back is to four o'clock this afternoon. And you won't marry Malfoy, not unless you have a major change of heart way down the road and do so out of choice."

I make a face that the mere _thought_ of marrying _Draco Malfoy_ , and Hermione laughs again. "See? You'll be fine!"

I laugh along with her before pulling the over-a-year-older girl into a hug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Guys!" Harry calls in a whisper-shout. "Come on, you're missing the werewolf fighting!"

"What?" I scramble over to him, emotional moment left in the dust. "I missed it? I wanted to see myself transform!"

The scene in front of us had, in fact, completely unfolded: Lupin was a vaguely man-shaped wolf, with one large black down clinging to his back, and a second smaller black dog darting around his feet. If I squinted, I could see Harry and Hermione in the trees opposite us.

I listen to the snarling and barking for a few more seconds before something clicks in my head. "Guys, we need to move! Now!"

"What? Why?"

"Because Lupin will run into the forest – _straight at us_!" I explain in a rush, shooting to my feet and grabbing Buckbeak.

"Oh!" Hermione moans. "What are we going to do? Where are we going to go? We can't interfere, but if we don't-"

"Hagrid's," Harry decides. "It'll be empty now, come on!"

We hightail it towards Hagrid's hut, Buckbeak cantering along behind me. I could hear Lupin howling as we got farther and farther away, and I _really_ didn't want to fight him again tonight…

Luckily, it doesn't come to that: we make it to Hagrid's hut with little incident, but of course Harry has to bring up another issue with this plan.

"How are we going to get to the lake?"

"What?" I pant from where I was leaning against Buckbeak's flank.

"The lake," my godbrother repeats, "is that way." He points back in the direction we came. "And going that way means possibly running into a werewolf."

I groan and slap my palm into my forehead. "Why didn't we think of that?"

Hermione sighs, and I can almost see the cogs turning in her head. "What if we led him this way?"

"…The potion fumes have gone to your head," Harry announces after a moment of stunned silence. "Because there is no way you are sane right now."

"Let me explain," she pleads, and we fall into hesitant silence. "If we lead him this way, and then run off that way-" she points off to the side, into a denser clump of trees, "-we can kind on circle around him and head for the lake."

"Do you realize how fast we'd have to run? A werewolf can run at about forty miles per hour."

"We aren't going to be outrunning it," she counters. "Just luring it here and run very quickly off to the side."

"Right," Harry nods. "And how do you plan on luring it here? One of us a nice, juicy steak?"

"No," I realize. "A werewolf only responds to the call of it's own kind, so…" I face Hermione, a questioning look on my face.

She nods, which I return before handing her Buckbeak's rope and closing my eyes. I feel myself shift, and when I open my eyes again the world is an odd mix of blacks and greys. I quickly throw my head towards the sky and let out a slow, mournful howl that reverberates around us.

It's quickly answered by another howl, and I quickly shift back before my canine mind has a chance to pull me towards it.

"Come on!" I shout before taking off into the woods at full speed, hearing Harry, Hermione, and Buckbeak following me. There was also the sound of a werewolf tearing across the grounds, but I wasn't going to focus on that.

We reach the lake in what feels like no time, leaving the three of us panting and heaving – the chill that was settling in the air like a wet blanket wasn't helping much.

"Dementors," I mutter, fingering my wand nervously. "And lots of them."

"I wish we knew what was going on," Harry sighs wistfully.

"We could go watch," I suggest hesitantly. "Not interfere," I backpedal at Hermione's stern look. "Just find our past-selves and watch it all go down."

"I suppose…" she agrees hesitantly. "Just _don't be seen._ Whatever you do."

I nod and grin as Harry and I start tracking the chill to it's source, essentially playing a giant game of 'hot and cold' until we reach the rocky shores of the Black Lake, a few yards away from where Sirius was surrounded by Dementors.

Speaking of Dementors, there had to be at least a hundred of the foul creatures (and I didn't want to count, because that was just depressing).

"He was right there," Harry explains, motioning towards a large rock in front of us. "I swear he was."

I nod absently, looking across the lake at our past-selves and our miniscule attempts at Patronuses. We weren't having any effect on the horde, of course, but all we needed to do was wait until Mr. Prongs showed up.

 _If_ he showed up.

"Come on…" Harry mutter, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Come on, Dad, any time now."

My breath catches in my throat as I watch a Dementor hover over Sirius, lowering itself down, reaching with a slimy hand and pulling it's hood back, preparing to deliver the Kiss.

"Harry…" I breathe.

"But I swear, I saw…" Harry cuts himself off, a look of realization crossing his face; before I can stop him, or spout off a rule about not being seen, he dashes out onto the rocky overhang, drawing his wand before he's even got his footing.

I catch on to what he's doing a moment later – and if he wanted to drive off _all_ the Dementors, he needed help.

I draw my wand from where I was standing, slightly in the shadows, and call up the memory of finding Sirius innocent, learning that I _could_ live with him, and latching onto that train of thought and never letting go.

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ "

Two bolts of silver light shoot out of our wands, light being reflected off the lake and bathing the surrounding area. The lights quickly shift into animals, ears and legs and tails showing up as our Patronuses form.

One grows antlers, a narrow snout, and four thin legs with hooves – a medium-sized stag. _Prongs,_ I realize. _Prongs was Harry's Patronus!_

 _Does that mean I get Padfoot…?_

The other beam of light was shifting into something with four paws and a tail, but it was too small to be Sirius' Animagus form.

It had pointy ears, a fluffy tail short legs and small paws…it was a fox. An _arctic_ fox, judging by the fluffy coat.

My fox and Harry's stag race forward, painting a bit of a funny picture but driving the Dementors away nonetheless before turning around.

I crouch down as the fox gets closer to me, reaching out a hand as if to touch it, but it dissolves into wisps of smoke before I can.

Thousands of words come to mind, but the only one that makes it out is "Wow."

"Yeah," Harry agrees breathlessly, seizing my arm. "Ori, look at Snape!"

I mentally shake myself, looking out across the lake at the Potions Master that had stumbled upon our little scene. Three stretchers are conjured and we're levitated onto them, although Sirius is tied to his. With a flick of his wand, Snape levitates us up and away, slowly moving towards the castle.

I make a face but shake my head, following Harry back out to where we'd left Hermione and Buckbeak.

"What did you do?" Hermione demands after we've found her. "You said you were just going to _look_!"

"We needed to do something, or Sirius was going to get his soul sucked out!" Harry says defensively. "We weren't seen, don't worry."

"But still, the Patronus Charm is-"

"Stop it, both of you," I admonish. "We need to get going, remember?"

The chorus their apologies, but I just wave a hand before turning to look at the castle, mentally counting the towers to find where they were keeping the elder Black.

"Macnair," Harry says suddenly, and I jump. "What?"

"Macnair," he repeats, pointing off into the distance at a figure we can barely see. "The executioner – he's going to get the Dementors!"

I swear viciously. "We're never going to make it there in time!"

"What if we distracted him?" Harry asks. "If we could get his attention off Sirius, then we could sneak in and get him out."

"I like this plan," I declare, grabbing Buckbeak's rope and giving myself a boot onto his back. "Well? Come on."

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asks nervously.

I turn and give her what the twins called a 'devil-may-care' grin. "Leave that to me. Now get on, come on!"

They clamber on Buckbeak's back behind me, and once I'm sure everyone's got a firm grip, one flick of the reins has Buckbeak in the air.

Flying a hippogriff was nothing like flying a broom: my legs were awkwardly bent around his wings, there were no Cushioning, Braking, or Stability Charms, and Quidditch matches were never held at night (something about liabilities and deaths and other trivial matters). But this was still flying, and it was still amazing.

I bring the hippogriff to a stop next to some battlements and hop off, handing the reins to Harry. "He's on the thirteenth floor, fourth tower from the left. I'll meet you there."

"Don't get caught," Harry calls after me as I head in the other direction, and I just give him a thumbs-up.

Ducking into the shadows, I quickly make my way to the stairwell Macnair would most likely use to get to the rest of the castle and crouch in the shadows, slipping off my satchel and unzipping it.

Digging around for a few seconds, I find what I was looking for: a piece of rope with a small ball on either end. This was what Fred and George called a Twist-Tricks rope; it was a mix between a tripwire and a Muggle bola rope.

I roll one of the balls across the corridor, tapping the one in my hand with my wand to activate the handy Disillusionment Charm George, the more Charms-inclined of the two, had cast before setting the ball down at this end of the corridor and settling in to wait.

A few minutes later, Macnair appears at the top of the staircase, the axe strapped to his belt gleaming in the moonlight as he whistles a nameless tune. He meets the invisible rope at the bottom of the staircase (not the top, because I wasn't feeling homicidal tonight) and falls wildly forwards.

That was the 'tripwire' part.

A simple muttered word causes the balls to detach from the walls and twist around Macnair, the rope expanding to bind him up to his waist, before zooming up and molding themselves in the ceiling, leaving Macnair hanging upside down, piñata-style.

 _Hmm…people piñatas, there's an idea…_

Shaking my head to clear it, I stand and slowly step out of the shadows, moving around Macnair so he can't see me as I slip his wand from his hand and throw it in a random direction as hard as I could, which was pretty damn hard.

Snickering at my masterpiece, I leave the room, still unseen by my "victim".

"Oh Mr. Executioner, haven't you learned not to cross a prankster?"

* * *

"Hermione, hurry up, we need to get this done before Macnair-"

"Macnair won't be coming any time soon," I interrupt Harry as I make my way onto the top landing of the tower. "He's a bit tied up with something else right now. What's up?"

Hermione and Harry both give me a wary look as I internally smirk at my choice of words, but Hermione gets over it first. "We can't unlock the door."

I move around so I can fully see the heavy iron door, giving the man on the other side a small wave. "You've tried everything?"

"Of course." Hermione rolls her eyes, giving me a 'don't insult me' look. "Even the ones the fifth years are learning right now."

"It makes sense that we can't unlock it," Harry muses. "I mean, it's probably some advanced spell that the seventh years don't even know."

"So if we can't use finesse…" I run a hand through my hair. "Have you tried explosive spells?"

"Yes," Hermione sighs. "I've tried everything. We need to hurry up, though, because even if Macnair isn't coming, time is of the essence."

"Of course," I agree, kneeling down and opening my little black bag of tricks again. While I'm digging through it, I give Hermione my partial attention. "How's your Sticking Charm?"

"Pretty good. Why?"

"Good enough to hold up an item of-" I pull my hand out, showing a prototype grenade, "this size for ten seconds with no movement?"

She nods, then does a double take. "Is that a _grenade_?"

"The magical equivalent, yes." I stand and walk over to the cell, holding the small explosive against the keyhole. "Hermione?"

She performs the Sticking Charm, and I follow it with a Silencing Charm. "Get to the back of your…cell," I instruct my father, and he nods and shuffles backwards just before I pull out the cork on top of the grenade with an audible 'pop' and scramble backwards. "Duck and cover!"

I duck behind one of the stones at the edge of the tower, casting a shield just in case as I mentally continue the count down.

… _eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…_

Nothing. Well, I can't _hear_ anything, anyways, but that's what Silencing Charms are meant for.

I can _see_ a pretty big explosion, followed by the door swinging open, the lock now a twisted mass of metal.

Sirius steps out, staring at the three of us in shock. "How did – what did – what was-?"

"We don't have much time," I interrupt him urgently, waving him towards Buckbeak. "This is Buckbeak, he's your ride out of here."

He nods mutely and takes the rope I hand him, before turning to me. "Orissa, I'm so sorry…about everything."

I blink in shock, but nod. "Yeah. I-I know…me too, for what it's worth."

"You don't have anything to be-"

I shake my head. "It's a conversation for another time. You need to leave _now_."

He nods and steps back, but hesitates, as if considering something, before suddenly moving forward and wrapping me in a sturdy, albeit weak, hug.

"I'm proud of you, Rissy," he rasps quietly. "So, _so_ proud. Never…never forget that, okay?"

"I won't," I whisper, bringing my arms up to gently encircle, giving my father something as simple as a hug for the first time in over a decade.

And then Hermione clears her throat, reminding us that we were working under an unyielding, do-or-die deadline.

"Go," I order softly, stepping back.

He nods resolutely, mounting the hippogriff before looking back at the three of us. "You are truly your father's son, Harry…how can I ever thank you?"

"Going now and not getting Kissed would be nice," I drawl.

He turns Buckbeak towards empty sky, turning and giving the three of us a little wave before flicking the reins and taking off, two of them soaring up and away from the castle, into the night as they slowly faded into the dark…

And then they were gone.


	43. Chapter 42

**Please review! I hate to beg, but reviews really do make my day.**

 **Also, I've decided on the number of chapters for this story – there's going to be 45, so two more after this.**

The only people that knew the full story of the events that took place on the night of July 6th were Professor Dumbledore, Harry, Hermione, and myself. Sure, other people, namely Ron, Sirius, Lupin, and Snape, knew bits and pieces, but the full story would belong to only four people, unless we decided to tell anyone else.

(Personally, I wasn't going to, because it contained several illegal acts. The third member of The Golden Trio, however, was not to be left out, by decree of Harry and Hermione.)

The next few days passed without incident; no one had anything to do, but we still had a few more days until term ended on the eighteenth. Everyone was either lounging by the lake (or _in_ the lake), packing their things, or just wandering about. The feeling of jittery excitement was almost tangible, and for once I was no exception.

I currently belonged to the group of people that were packing to head home: my old trunk was propped open at the foot of my bed, with my belongings spread around me as I organized everything.

I wince and look up as there's a thud from the bed to my right – Dunbar's – and look up just in time to see something pink fly in my direction, landing on my bed and bursting open, sending fine particles of a pink powder everywhere.

"Oops," Dunbar sneers from her bed. "I didn't see you there, traitor."

I hiss out a breath, mentally counting to ten before opening them again and giving her a thin-lipped smile. "It's not a problem," I reply primly before turning back to my now pink-stained books and parchment and sighing.

I begin to half-heartedly brush the powder off before giving up and getting off my bed, grabbing a change of clothes and heading into the bathroom, resolutely ignoring the snickers coming from Dunbar and Company.

I quickly step into the shower, watching the water run pink as the powder gets washed off, before shaking my head and grabbing the bar of soap.

"I'm okay," I mumble to myself, the sound of the water drowning out my words. "Just a few more days and I can leave."

I didn't want to think about three months from now, when I'd have to come back.

I step out of the shower about ten minutes later, drying off and getting dressed before leaving the bathroom, slipping through the dorm unnoticed and down to the Common Room, climbing through the portrait hole and into the quiet corridor.

Quiet, that is, until a shout rings out.

" _Incarcerous!"_

I didn't see the spell coming – it was fired at my back – so the next thing I realize, I'm lying on a cold hard floor, bound from head to toe.

Was this some kind of karma for what I did to Macnair?

I have to squirm a bit to reach my wand, which was in the pocket of my jeans, but I manage to maneuver it out and cancel the spell, scrambling up and turning around to face my attacker.

" _Dunbar?_ " I ask, struck dumb for a moment before I pick my jaw up off the floor. "What, throwing makeup at me wasn't enough for you?"

"That was just a taste of what I can do," she smirks as she steps into my full view. "All these months, I've just been playing with you."

"Well, it wasn't very fun," I fire back before I can consider what I'm saying – I didn't think mouthing off to a tormentor of mine (she was armed, too, with an effing _death grip_ on her wand) was one of my most brilliant ideas. So I decided to try a different tactic.

"Why are you doing this, Fay?"

"Don't call me that, _Orissa,"_ she snaps. "And I'm doing this because you're poisoning this school from the inside out."

"Am I?" Funny, I didn't _remember_ setting out to poison an entire school; seems like something you might remember. "I didn't realize."

"That's a load of owl dung," she sneers. "Don't deny it, Black – you've helped your _daddy_ break in three times. Keen on adding your friends to his list of victims, hm?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter past my clenched teeth with a sense of calm I certainly didn't feel. "I've never helped. Hell, I haven't _met_ him."

"Liar!" she screams, pointing a finger at me; I flinch because that also happens to be the hand holding her wand. "He was on the grounds a few nights ago – I know he was! And _you_ never came into the dorm! You were helping him, weren't you?"

"I wasn't-"

"I liked you just fine when you were Allison," she rants, pacing in front of me. "Why did you have to change?" She turns to face me. "You know, sometimes I wonder why you joined You-Know-Who."

"Is that so."

"Oh, yes," she replies airily, as if I hadn't just given her the driest, not-a-question response I possibly could. "I wonder how he'd… _enticed_ you. Death? Violence? Bloodshed? _Murder_?"

I just stare at her, unblinking.

"I bet all they had to do was show you a little appreciation," she smirks. "You would've been putty in their hands, just like you are Potter's. Because that's all you are – a loveless, pathetic little attention whore."

For the record, I tried to be a good little victim and keep my mouth shut.

I tried, but…

"You would know, wouldn't you, Dunbar? Word around the castle is that you'll do anything for a Sickle – or should I say, any _one_?"

What happens next is a bit of blur.

I see her raising her wand and shouting out two hexes, and pain erupts in my right shoulder. There's someone screaming, running footsteps, and then a familiar fierce, Scottish-toned voice: " _FAITH MAURA DUNBAR! NEVER, IN ALL MY YEARS AT THIS SCHOOL-"_

There are hands underneath me, more pain shoots through my shoulder (it was wet, why was it wet?) and then I can hear a softer voice speaking, barely catching snips of a conversation.

"-losing too much-"

"Steady, steady-"

"-hand me that bandage, quickly-"

Something smooth is pressed against my lips. "Drink, Miss Black."

I do as instructed, and the world slowly swims back into focus, the pain in my shoulder fading to a barely-noticeable throb.

"Hello, Miss Black. How many wands do you see?" Madam Pomfrey asks intensely.

"Just one," I reassure the mediwitch before glancing at my surroundings. I was in the Hospital Wing. "What happened?"

Madam Pomfrey frowns, "What do you remember, dear?"

 _Well, I remember that you only call someone 'dear' when they're hurt._ "Um, Dunbar and I were…arguing…and she pointed her wand at me before I could get a shield up. The rest is all a blur."

She nods and moves around to the small table by my bed. "Well, you are correct. Miss Dunbar did cast a spell upon you – two, in fact. A Bludgeoning Hex and a Severing Charm. The Bludgeoning Hex cracked your clavicle-"

"My _what_?"

She gives a long-suffering sigh. "Your collarbone. Your right arm will need to be bound because of that. Only for tonight," she adds at my panicked look, and I give a sigh of relief. "The Severing Charm sliced open a minor artery, causing a small amount of blood loss, but that was a fairly quick fix and potions will restore what's been lost. I'll give you an ointment so it doesn't scar."

I nod. "Sounds good. Can I go now?"

"Ah-ah-ah!" she tuts at me, complete with a stern glare. "You will be staying here until tomorrow morning at the _very_ earliest, Miss Black. I will tie you to that bed if I must."

I nod again, quicker this time, and scoot back on the bed, knowing full well that the mediwitch could and would follow through on that threat.

Madam Pomfrey eventually leaves me with one arm bound in a localized upper-body bind, a scar cream, and instructions to apply the latter every twenty-four hours until the scar is gone.

Harry slips in just after the nurse sequesters herself in her office, making a beeline to my side. "Ori! I heard what happened, are you alright?"

"I will be," I reassure him. "By tomorrow. Apparently not even _magic_ is instantaneous," I reveal with an over-exaggerated eye roll.

"What did she do to you, anyway?" he asks curiously, his eyes focused on my bound arm and the bandages covering the gash on the front of my shoulder.

"You mean other than making my life hell since September?" He nods and motions for me to continue. "Broke a bone and sliced open a vein. I've had worse."

"Yeah, but that's just Quidditch," he reminds me. "People get hurt. And it's not like the Beaters have a specific grudge against _you_."

Images of frying pans, canes, and cupboards under stairs come to mind, but I just raise my eyebrows at Harry. "Well, the Slytherin's might, but then again, they have grudges against everyone. Anyways, what've you been doing all day?"

If Harry notices the abrupt subject change, he doesn't say anything. "Talking to Lupin, mainly. I wanted to see him before he leaves. He's packing early...he's resigning, 'Rissa," he confesses sadly.

"What?" I gasp. "But he can't! He's the best DADA teacher we've had!"

"Well, when your benchmarks are a man possessed by Voldemort and a complete fraud…"

"Good point," I sigh. "What happened _this_ time?"

"Snape told his snakes about the other night," he admits nervously, and I purse my lips and count to ten in Latin before speaking. "And?"

"And…" he fidgets uncomfortably. "Look, can I just go get Lupin and have him tell you this? You look like you're about to kill someone, and I'd rather it not be me."

"I'm not going to kill you," I deny, shaking my head. "But yeah, getting Lupin sounds like a good idea. If he really is leaving, I want to talk to him before he leaves."

Harry nods and shuffles out of the Hospital Wing, returning a few minutes later with a bedraggled-looking professor in tow. "Professor Lupin!"

"Miss Black," he greets politely. "I heard you wanted to speak with me before I left?"

"Yes, sir." I glance over at Harry. "Didn't Ron say he wanted a rematch of the chess game you two played yesterday?"

"Um-" I give him a pointed look, and he nods as realization dawns and leaves the room.

"How are you feeling?" Lupin asks.

"I'm fine," I wave him off nonchalantly.

He gives me a disbelieving look. "Right, and I'm Celestina Warbeck. Come on, Orissa."

I give a long sigh. "Well, I'm hopped up on pain potions right now, so I'm really not in much pain, just sore. A bit confused on why Dunbar tried to kill me."

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes – it's not an accusing expression, just a curious one.

"I'm not stupid," I defend. "She got me here –" I point at the bandages. "If she'd gotten just a few inches higher, she would've hit my neck, and I took enough science classes in primary school to know most injuries to the neck are fatal."

"I didn't say you were stupid." The professor holds his hands up in surrender. "And you're right, she could've very well killed you, over a stupid schoolgirl grudge." He blinks and frowns, as if remembering something.

I think back on his words in the Shrieking Shack and give half a shrug. "Snape's a ruddy bastard. He doesn't count."

Lupin gives me a warning look. "Watch your language, Orissa. I'm still your professor."

"Not if you resign," I counter, boldly meeting his eyes.

"Ah." He leans against the foot of my bed. "And we've hit the issue at hand."

"Yes," I huff. "Because you're _resigning._ You realize you're the best DADA teacher I've heard, the only competent one, and you're leaving by _choice_."

"Not by choice, as I'm sure Harry told you."

"Still," I whine, flopping back against my pillows. "I don't want you to leave. You're the only one who knew my – Sirius, you know that? Knew him personally, I mean, and I could talk to you, and now you're leaving."

"Hey, you can still write," he reassures me.

"Right, like the Dursley's are going to let me write to my 'freakish' friends," I scoff.

A shadow flits over Lupin's face, but it's gone before I can say anything. "Well then, I might have another option for you. One the Muggle's won't think of."

He holds up a familiar piece of parchment, and I give an excited squeal. "The Map!"

"The Map," he agrees, handing it over. "I figured I could return it to you, since I'm no longer your professor and it is, after all, rightfully yours. A family heirloom, if you will," he quips with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now, wait a moment," he orders, and I pause with my wand poised over the Map. "Have you ever tried to open it incorrectly?"

I give him an odd look, wondering if the Wolfsbane potion had any effect on mental functions. "No…"

"I figured. It would've solved some of our problems much sooner."

"What?"

"Just repeat after me: 'The puppy wishes to access the map.'"

"Um...okay." I hold my wand against the parchment, just like normal, but recite the phrase given to me, and watch as instead of the elaborate title page unfolding, there's words appearing on the page.

 _Mr. Wormtail welcomes the spawn of Mr. Padfoot to the Marauder's Map, and wishes them well in all of their pranking endeavors, because he has no doubt that he/she is just as bad as his/her father._

 _Mr. Moony joins Mr. Wormtail in welcoming Mr. Padfoot's progeny, whoever they may be, and sincerely hopes that their mother passed down a fair amount of common sense and good looks, both of which Mr. Padfoot sorely lacks._

 _Mr. Prongs finds it hilarious that Mr. Padfoot, Bachelor Extraordinaire, finally settled down and made a baby, as well as pitying the poor girl he knocked up, if that is the case. He sincerely hopes that he is a good godfather and an effective counter to Mr. Moony's boring-ness. He has no doubt that the younger Messr. or Madam Black is the best prankster Hogwarts has seen since himself._

 _Mr. Padfoot welcomes his 'spawn', as Mr. Wormtail so kindly put it, to the Marauder's Map, and wishes him/her well in using it, for he knows he/she will. He implores Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs to bugger off, for they are all idiots. He is sure his offspring has inherited his awesomeness, because anything else is unlikely and unthinkable._

"Oh my god," I breathe, my eyes fixed on the last paragraph.

"I know," Lupin agrees. "We were quite…"

"Self-centered?" I suggest with a grin. "Legendary? Awesome?"

"I was going to say moronic, but those work as well," he jokes.

I throw my head back and laugh, which is apparently loud enough to bring Madam Pomfrey out of her office. "Miss Black, I told you to _rest_ , not cause a stir in my Hospital Wing! And Mr. Lupin, you know better! Need I remind you of the importance of rest and relaxation during one's convalescence?"

With a jolt, I'm suddenly reminded that Lupin must've spent time both preparing for, and recovering from, full moons here; and if that's not a thought that casts a damper on things, I don't know what is.

The tension quickly evaporates, however, when I catch a glance of Lupin's face: he's got an almost perfect 'who, me?' expression on, one that I'd bet he's used too many times to count.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," I apologize as sincerely as I could. "Professor Lupin was just telling me a story of my father while he was at school. It was…entertaining, to say the least."

Pomfrey gives a slightly nostalgic smile. "Yes, well, Mr. Black did seem to hold a penchant for trouble. That boy nearly had a reserved bed in here. Very well, Miss Black, but keep the noise to a minimum. I _do_ have other patients to treat, you know."

"Yes, ma'am."

She nods, satisfied, and returns to her office. I turn to look at Lupin, my hand smothering the laugh threatening to burst forth. He looks at me with an unreadable expression.

"You know, as your professor, I cannot condone blatantly lying to an adult. But as Moony, your fellow Marauder…" A grin breaks out across his face. "Bravo, Miss Black, bravo."

"Thank you, thank you, you're too kind."

We make small talk for a short while, reminiscing about pranks we've pulled and trouble we've gotten into, but eventually, Madam Pomfrey shoos the professor (ex-professor, now) out and dims the light.

As I fall asleep that night, with the immortal words of the Marauders dancing behind my eyelids, everything in my world feels just right for the first time in a long time.


	44. Chapter 43

**Hello all! Terribly sorry for the late update, but I happened to see _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ two days ago and my muse came running back. By the way, Newt Scamander? _Most adorkable thing in the whole world._ Merlin, I just want to hug him. Anyone else with me?**

 **Anyways, here's this. Please follow, favorite, and review!**

* * *

Fay Dunbar got expelled.

This wasn't surprising, really, given that she could've killed me. According to Hermione, Hogwarts had a strict no-tolerance policy on bullying ("If only you'd told someone _before_ she attempted murder," she'd lamented), which meant that as soon as my safety and the nature of my injuries were sorted, Miss Dunbar was shipped back to Ireland faster than you could say "witch".

Her departure was pretty much the last big drama of the year – yes, whispers still flew amongst the student body, but that was just normal. The End of Year feast went off without a hitch… if you ignored the rapidly duplicating and extremely hard to vanish Muggle bouncy balls, which came courtesy of Yours Truly, Gred and Forge.

The last half-hour of my third year found me packing my belongings – many of which were still tainted pink – into an old trunk still marked with the letters A.L.P., taking special care to place the Map, the photo of Sirius, and his letter where they wouldn't get damaged.

I slam the trunk shut and lock it with a flick of my wand, then casting a levitation spell and following it down the stairs, haphazardly making sure it didn't bang into the steps _too_ hard.

"Honestly, Ori," a familiarly exasperated voice says, an extra spell stabilizing my own. "Can't you just carry the trunk instead of smashing it everywhere?"

"Sorry," I grumble, guiding the trunk down the last few steps before landing it and turning to face Hermione. "You have everything?"

"Of course," she scoffs, putting away her own wand. "I packed _ages_ ago, if you must know."

I huff at her, grabbing my trunk and dragging it out of the Common Room, listening to the wheels rattle over the cobblestone floors as the two of us make our way through the castle.

"Have you heard anything from your f- your friend?" Hermione asks suddenly.

I hesitate before shaking my head. "Not a word. You?" She shakes her head as well, and I sigh. "I suppose it's for the best."

"Don't give up hope yet," she pleads. "He's waited twelve years to meet you, I don't think he'll give that chance up now."

"He may not have a choice," I point out bluntly, pointedly cutting the conversation off by stepping foot in the Great Hall, where students were milling about in a mass of organized chaos.

We find Harry and Ron easily enough, our quartet making its way into a carriage and then onto the Hogwarts Express, settling into a carriage as the train pulls out of the station.

"I've decided to drop Muggle Studies," Hermione announces suddenly.

I startle slightly before turning to face her. "Why? You never quit anything."

"Especially not things you score a 300% in," Ron adds from where he was engrossed in a game of Exploding Snap with Harry.

"Yes, well, I've decided that I've been too overworked this year," Hermione admits.

"You're just _now_ figuring that out?" I ask her incredulously. "Merlin, 'Mione, I thought you were the smart one!"

"Everyone makes mistakes," she defends. "And I'm also dropping Divination, seeing as it's a complete waste of my time."

"And a load of owl dung," I point out. "But nice job. You gave the – the _thing_ back to Professor McGonagall, right?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.

"Yes, Ori, I did give the 'thing' back," she drawls, making extensive use of air quotes. "That's one less thing for us to worry about, at least."

"Because Merlin knows we've got enough of that," I huff, only slightly bitter.

"I was thinking of dropping Divination," I admit after another moment of silence. "The way I see it, you're either a Seer or you aren't. And a class isn't going to change your genes."

"Jeans?" Ron question. "What do trousers have to do with Seeing?"

I look at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, and Hermione rolls her eyes before explaining, "G-E-N-E, not J-E-A-N, Ron. It's a Muggle science having to do with the base of a person's very being." Turning to me, she added, "You're right. You're smarter than you look, you know."

I very maturely stick my tongue out and her, and she just laughs. "What were you planning on picking up, 'Rissa?"

I consider this for a moment before shrugging. "Not a clue. Hey, trolley!"

I spring up, collecting money and orders, approaching the elderly witch that manned the cart and ordering almost one of everything before returning to the carriage. I hand out everyone's snacks and go to sit down, but I'm stopped.

Already occupying my seat was a small, slightly ruffled grey owl, with black wings, a black chest, and black markings around her large, round, amber eyes. "Uh, guys?"

"Hm?" Hermione looks up from a piece of parchment. "Oh! Right, Ori, I forgot – this came," she holds up a scroll, "with that." She points at the owl.

I nod and extend an arm, allowing the owl to hop on – over my robes, as I didn't fancy getting my arm shredded – and moving it over, grabbing the letter and sitting down next to the little thing.

I take a closer look at the scroll, turning it over it my hands. It was made of cheap parchment, rough around the edges, and was tied with a simple piece of twine. There was no indication of who it was from, which was slightly worrying; any number of people could be sending me letters, and they could be sending anything from hate mail to fan mail.

"Ori, it's not going to explode," Ron points out from across the carriage. "Just open it already."

"You never know," I mutter, but slip off the twine anyway, unfurling the parchment.

 _Orissa,_ the letter reads,

 _I hope this finds you in better straights than when I wrote it. Don't worry, I'm fine – not entirely comfortable, but alright._

 _Things could be worse, eh?_

 _Anyways, I think you would want to know that I'm safe (well, as safe as someone in my condition can be), and my feathered friend is doing fine. I'm sorry for not writing yet, but I figured exams were upon you, and I didn't want to disturb you._

 _I hope you have a good summer, don't even_ _think_ _about what happened at Hogwarts, and when you come back to school in September, hold your head high. Your family is proud of you, and I have absolutely no doubt that you're loved. Never let anyone else tell you differently._

 _Oh, and before I forget – speaking of feathered friends, the owl that this was attached to is now yours, should you want it. Think of it as a beginning to the birthdays I've missed. She's a unique little thing; take care of her._

 _Love,_

 _Snuffles_

 _P.S.: should you ever feel the desire to be among your own kind, remember that 12 Grimmauld Place is a doghouse._

I stare at the parchment for a long, long time, absorbing its words. The was really only one person "Snuffles" could be: Sirius. My father had written me, at no small risk to his own safety, just to tell me he was okay and not to worry. I was stunned; was this normal parental behavior?

"'Rissa?" I startle and look up to see Ron, Hermione, and Harry looking at me with concern. "Are you, um, okay?"

"Yeah," I blink. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Er…nothing." The three share a glance. "You were just…staring at the letter. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I repeat. "I'm…I'm fine. Who was that from?" I ask, nodding at their letter as I fold my own away.

"Snuffles. We think it's-"

"Shh!" I shush her. "And yes, I know. I got one like it."

"Well, he gave me an owl," Ron offers. "See?" He holds up a tiny little fuzz ball that was tittering nervously, hopping around on the palm of Ron's hand. "He's tiny – dunno what good he'll be, but…" He shrugs and lowers his palm to, incidentally, where Crookshanks' carrier was. When the cat doesn't react, we all let out a laugh as Ron sets his new owl down on the seat. "What about yours?"

"She's a girl." I put my arm down and the owl obediently climbs on, cooing softly as I lift her up, turning her this way and that as I inspect her. She was about a foot and a half tall, with soft grey plumage, except for the black wings and markings. Her large, golden-amber eyes watch me inquisitively, and I reach up to stroke her head. "You're a smart one, aren't you?"

"What are you going to name her?" Hermione asks.

"Hm…" I chew on my lip while considering, remembering how Harry had gotten his inspiration for Hedwig – somehow, I don't think my History of Magic textbook would help here, even if I had read it. "Oh! Tyche."

"I didn't know you read Greek mythology, Ori," Hermione admits, sounding surprised. I just shrug sheepishly, and Hermione turns to the two confused boys. "Tyche, pronounced _tie-she_ , is the Greek goddess of luck."

"I figured we could use all the luck we could get," I explain quietly.

The boys nod, and we all settle down, eventually changing out of our robes and into Muggle clothing.

The train chugs to a stop in King's Cross, and the station is quickly filled with the chatter of students rushing to meet their parents.

Harry and I collect our luggage and cross though the barrier, slipping through the Muggle crowds until we find the Dursley's, fat and ugly and Muggle-ish as normal.

The give Harry an annoyed look, but when they turn to be, they're legitimately disgusted – I'm sure the owl perched on my trolley wasn't helping matters. "You," 'Uncle' Vernon snarls.

"Me," I nod, not breaking eye-contact with his beady little eyes. _I'm not related to you. I'm not scared of you._

The man just huffs at me, turning around and marching towards the car.

I can't help but grin as I follow, listening to Harry tell Aunt Petunia about his "convict godfather", my fingers brushing the letter in my pocket.

This would definitely be an interesting summer, to say the least.


	45. Chapter 44

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It was greatly appreciated.**

 **To Guestarino: I can't tell if this was a good review or not, but I felt the need to review anyway. Dunbar might be getting off with "a slap on the wrist", but you have to remember that the wizarding world doesn't like Ori very much, both because of her last name and her dad. And Dunbar might be going to Azkaban, but Ori will have bigger fish to fry than a school yard bully.**

 **.**

As it turned out, my summer was only interesting for a week, because that was how long it took for Vernon Dursley to get tired of me.

To be honest, I didn't expect my summer with my non-relatives to be sunshine and roses. The only reason they had kept Harry and me in the first place was because the blood wards – Petunia was Lily's blood, ergo, she was Harry and Allison's blood.

But she wasn't my blood. I was a Black, through and through, which meant that these people now had absolutely no reason to keep me in their house.

Not that I was particularly upset about that – this last week had been absolute hell. Even though I made myself scarce around Privet Drive, I was somehow given a bigger workload than Harry; apparently, I had to "earn my keep", even though I never saw a cent.

And technically, I had no problem with walking out. I could hitch a ride on the Knight Bus and ride to the Leaky Cauldron – or, if push came to shove, masquerade as a stray dog for a few weeks.

But I was beginning to reach the end of my rope with Vernon Dursley.

"YOU!"

Speak of the devil. I roll off my cot, trudging down the stairs and into the living room. "Here."

"Don't disrespect me, girl!"

I sigh. "Here… _sir,_ " I hiss with as much disdain as I could, because the only authority figures I respected were my professors (sans Snape and Binns) because _they_ had earned it, not simply sat around on their fat-

"Did you hear me, girl?!"

I close my eyes and count to five before reopening them and looking at the man sitting in front of me, bushy mustache quivering with what I assumed was rage. "Could you please repeat that, _sir_?"

"Are you daft?" Vernon demands, his voice rising to a roar. "I told you to go scrub the kitchen! Now get out of my sight, you filthy little ingrate!"

I just purse my lips and step around his chair (throne) and into the kitchen, getting a bucket from the cupboard and filling it with water and, then grabbing a sponge and going down to my hands and knees, beginning to scrub the already-spotless kitchen floor.

After a few minutes, Harry's grubby trainers appear within my field of vision. "Ori?"

"You might want to leave," I deadpan. "Wouldn't want to get caught talking to the 'bastard child', would you?"

"Ori, please, it doesn't have to be like this-"

"Doesn't it?" I ask him bitterly. I nudge his foot with the sponge. "Harry, please. You're staining the floor."

I hear him sigh and his shoes recede, and I return to scrubbing the tiles where I could already see my reflection.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I was sore, tired, hungry (but not allowed to eat), and cold (Dudley had waddled through, stained the floor, and kicked the bucket of water over, and of course I wasn't allowed to change).

Harry had kept to our room all night – really all week, now that I thought about it; probably trying not to provoke the Dursleys anymore, both for his safety and mine.

The Dursleys themselves were currently in the living room, Dudley and Vernon watching a game of soccer while Petunia browsed a _Good Housekeeping_ magazine.

"You! Come here!"

I sigh and pick myself up off the floor, shuffling into the living room to stand before Vermin – I mean Vernon. "Here…sir."

"You're dripping water all over my carpets!" Petunia shrieks.

"I just cleaned the floor, _ma'am_ ," I ground out from between my teeth. "What do you expect?"

"Why, you ungrateful little-"

"Don't talk back to your aunt, you little rat!" Vernon thunders, shooting to his feet.

"She's not my aunt!" I snap.

" _HOW DARE YOU!"_ Vernon Dursley straightens to his full height, looming over me. His face was turning all kinds of purple, and his eyes looked about ready to pop out of his head. _"WE HAVE FED YOU, CLOTHED YOU, AND GIVEN YOU A HOME OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF OUR HEARTS, ONLY TO FIND OUT THAT YOU AND THAT DASTARDLY FREAK SCHOOL OF YOURS LIED TO US! I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS BEHAVIOR IN MY HOME!"_

He reaches out and grabs my wrist; I go to move out of the way, but I'm not fast enough. He big, meaty hand closes around my skinny little wrist and squeezes. I can _hear_ something snap as pain shoots up my arm and I bite the inside of my cheek to muffle a scream.

Something inside of me snaps too – something less concrete and far harder to fix.

For a split second, I can _feel_ my heart beating, _feel_ the blood rushing through my veins and my magic pushing to the surface. I can feel the burning, all-consuming white-hot _rage._

My eyes snap open, and I look Vernon Dursley dead in the eyes. " _Release me."_

He does, but he doesn't have much choice – my magic is gathering in a bubble around me, thickening to the point where a shimmering, sparking cloud can be seen.

I cradle my wrist – broken, most likely – against my body, my other hand darting behind me to whip out my wand, pointing it directly at Vernon Dursley's face.

"How dare I, Dursley?" I ask him, in a deathly quiet whisper. "How dare _I_ , you ask? That's a good question, actually…how dare I clean until this house is spotless? How dare I cook for you until a gourmet chef would be proud? How dare I weed the garden until my hands bleed? How dare I slave away like a House Elf, day in and day out to 'earn my keep', as you put it?"

I take a step forward, jabbing my ebony wand into Vermin's throat. "You tell me, Dursley. Why should I be treated worse than the dirt under your shoes simply for being born? Why should I listen to you complain about my very existence, day after day, when an orphanage would probably be more merciful? Hm? Why is that?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, watching me with slightly terrified eyes. I jab my wand again, digging the tip in hard enough to bruise. " _Answer me!"_

"You – you can't do anything to me," he rasps out gleefully. "Can't do magic outside that freak school – you'd have nowhere to go…"

"Do I look like I care?" I snarl, holding my wand to his throat. "I don't need _magic_ to be your worst nightmare. I'm sure you've heard the stories of mass-murderer Sirius _Black_?"

I watch his eyes make the connection, flooding with first fear and then anger. "Don't threaten me, _girl_."

"It's not a threat," I whisper. "No, it's a promise."

As soon as that last word falls from my lips, there's a crash from behind Vermin. I snap my head over to see Petunia holding another vase and getting ready to throw it. "Get out," she orders, her voice trembling. "Get out this _instant_. You're poisoning my family – even my _freak_ of a sister wouldn't have raised a devil like you. Die on the streets, for all I care...you will _never_ step foot in this house again, do you hear me?! Never! Lower your - your _thing_ and _get out_!"

I step back to avoid the vase flying at my head, hearing it shatter against the wall as, with one last glare, I turn and leave the room, not releasing the death grip I had on my wand as I hurried up the stairs and burst into mine and Harry's bedroom.

"Ori?" He looks up from the book he was holding. "You look like a drowned cat! Are you – what are you-"

I ignore him, instead making a beeline for the window, where Tyche was perched. Obviously I hadn't had a chance to buy a perch or cage yet, but that didn't matter now. I fling the window open, not caring that it was lightly raining out, and turn to my owl.

"You need to go," I tell her. "I don't know where I'm headed, but – go to the Burrow. Find me in a week, alright?"

She makes a disgruntled sound and leans forward to nip at my fingers. Normally, it would have been comforting, but I didn't have the time right now. " _Now,_ Tyche!"

She hoots at me and flies out the window, and I watch her go for only a moment before slamming the window shut and turning back to the room.

"Ori, stop," Harry pleads, stepping in front of me. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," I explain shortly, hissing as my bad wrist shifts against my stomach. I grit my teeth and drop to my knees, using my good hand to dig under my bed for my coat. Finding it, I clumsily put my good arm through the sleeve, buttoning it around my bad arm, leaving the left sleeve loose.

"Are you hurt?!" Harry asks, panicking. "What _happened_?"

"Vernon Dursley," I spit out, grabbing my wand from my bed and tucking it into my pocket, eyeing my trunk in the corner of the room. I'd never unpacked, and I didn't feel like dragging the trunk with me wherever I ended up. "Harry, bring my stuff to Hogwarts in September, yeah? Doubt I'll see you before then."

With that, I turn on my heel and march out of the room and down the stairs, ignoring Harry's calls for me to come back. Nobody tries to stop me as I fling open the front door and run out onto the drive.

The summer rain mixed with the cold night created what felt like ice pellets falling on me, and it only worsened my already wet condition.

"Ori, stop!" Harry begs, having apparently followed me out. "Orissa, please!"

I don't listen to him.

"Allison, _stop_!"

I stop and turn around. "I'm – not – _Allison_!" I scream.

"Don't you understand?" I plead, not caring as I felt hot tears spill over and stream down my cheeks. "I'm not Allison! I was _never_ Allison! I'm a Black, Harry - the bane of the entire wizarding world! The only true thing about my Potter blood was that it was all one big _lie_."

"Orissa, you're not making any sense. Please, just come back - if only because I need you."

"You don't," I deny, shaking my head. "Harry, I protected you for thirteen years from the worst Muggles the world has to offer...but _you_ protected yourself from Quirrell, the basilisk, and a bloody _werewolf_ , Harry. Not me. And I can't – I can't protect you from this any longer."

"That doesn't matter," he insists stubbornly. "I can protect you. You don't need to leave."

"Yes, I do," I counter sadly. "I'm sorry."

I slump my shoulders, not at all holding my head high like Siri - like _Snuffles_ wanted.

"Ori...this isn't you," Harry whispers, somehow heard over the rain. "This is mad."

I can't help myself – I tip my head back and laugh, loud and erratic; the same laugh, I'd imagine, that Sirius Black let loose standing among the ruins of a street and twelve dead bodies more than a decade ago.

"Well then, maybe I'm mad...like father, like daughter, right?"

Harry just silently gapes at me.

"Please go back inside, Harry," I whisper, scarcely more than a breath. "You don't know what monsters lurk in the dark." I begin to walk backward down the drive, away from him and away from the place that was never my home. "Goodbye, Harry."

I turn around, resolutely not looking back as I make my way down the street, tears and rain blending on my face.

I eventually make it to the park a few blocks over, the same place where Dudley and his gang liked to "hang out". But they weren't there tonight, so I plopped down on the curb and ran a hand through my sopping wet hair.

What now? What did I do now?

 _Good question,_ my conscience remarks. _Maybe you should've thought of that_ before _you decided to run away._

"Shut the bloody hell up," I snap, and then groan, because now I was talking to myself, this was just _brilliant_.

I take a deep breath in, and then out. Okay, calm down, I instructed myself. This wasn't so bad – I could go to the Leaky Cauldron, or maybe the Burrow, although I didn't know how Mrs. Weasley would react to me showing up on her doorstep, looked half-drowned with a broken wrist...or I could-

" _Should you ever feel like being among your own kind, remember: 12 Grimmauld Place is a doghouse."_

I blink – the line from Snuffles' letter had popped into my head out of the blue, but maybe it held some merit. 12 Grimmauld Place sounded like an address, but what did "your own kind" mean? What was "my kind"? Wizards and witches, or something more specific, like Blacks, or Animagi?

Wait.

12 Grimmauld Place was a _doghouse_. As in, a place where a dog lives. And unless Snuffles meant Fang, then-

I shoot to my feet, wobbling slightly. It was a pretty foolish idea, but I'd done stupider on worse before. Drawing my wand, I step off the curb and take a few steps into the street before holding my wand out.

Sure enough, there's a rush of noise and color before a gigantic purple bus materializes out of nowhere.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus!" Stan Shunpike greets, stepping off the bus. "I'm Stan Shunpike, I'll be-"

"I get it," I cut him off. "I need a ride."

"Okay," Shunpike nods. "Where to, miss?"

"12 Grimmauld Place, please," I request.

Shunpike blinks, suddenly looking confused. "There's no such place, miss. You feelin' alright?"

I furrow my brow, but sigh. "Fine. Just bring me to Grimmauld Place, then."

"Now that we can do!" He claps his hands. "Come on, in you get."

I follow him up the stairs, my shoes squishing with every step. I find a bed in the back, curling up and not attempting to make a conversation with anyone as the bus jolts away again.

The bus ride to wherever I was headed only took about ten minutes, and soon enough the bus screeches to a halt, sending me tumbling to the floor. I happen to land on my left wrist, and I can barely choke back a scream as tears of pain appear in my eyes. By the time I pull myself up again, Shunpike is approaching me.

"That'll be fourteen Sickles an' five Knuts," he informs me.

"Take it out of Harry Potter's Gringotts account," I tell him. "Trust me, I'm cousin," I add at his suspicious look.

I hop off the last step before he can reply, dashing out into the rain, which was now coming down in sheets.

I make my way over to a small, dark grove of trees, waiting until the bus disappears before shifting into a medium-sized black dog.

My wrist vehemently protests this, and I let out a yelp of pain, my eyes springing open to a grayish world.

I shake my coat out – I wasn't any warmer in this form, sadly – and begin limping down the street, counting the house numbers as I went.

 _Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…_

 _...fourteen, thirteen – eleven?_

I stop, shooting the house next to me a confused look. There was thirteen, and then it jumped to eleven. This was pretty unhelpful, since I was looking for twelve.

I mean, he had said _"12 Grimmauld Place is a doghouse",_ right? Maybe I was really going mad, or-

There's a deep rumbling sound, and even as I watch, a house begins to appear between eleven and thirteen, pushing its neighbors apart to make room.

Oh. Magic, duh.

And yep, the door said twelve. The house was a tall brownstone, made of a dark gray brick, with ivy climbing up the front and ornate looking windows.

I hobble up the three steps in front of the door, shifting back and clamping down on another scream. I approach the door cautiously, noting that the door knocker was a golden serpent's head, with emerald eyes that seemed to watch my every move.

I was beginning to think this was a bad plan. What if "my own kind" were like the Malfoy's? What if I was hated for being in Gryffindor?

I shake my head. It's not like I had much choice, now was there? I reach out my good hand, thumping the knocker against the wooden door once, twice, three times.

After a moment, the door swings open.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, dropping my eyes to my feet. "I had nowhere else to go, and I couldn't go back."

"Don't apologize," the man standing in the doorway admonishes softly. "Come on, you look half-frozen."

He ushers me inside, and I shuffle after him. The inside of the house is massive, and I can't help but look around in wonder - we were in a hallway at the moment, and the ceiling was so high that I couldn't see it. Immediately to my left was a door, made of the same ornate wood as the front door. After that room, there was a hallway branching off to the left, and after that there was a set of stairs heading down to what I assumed was a basement and up at least one floor.

"Come on, in here," Sirius murmurs, leading me down the hallway to the left and through a set of double doors. We seem to be in a library of sorts, and he sits me down on an ancient loveseat in front of the fireplace. One flick of Sirius' wand has a warm fire roaring before he turns his attention back to me. "Can you get out of your coat? It should be warmer in here than out there."

I nod and clumsily start unbuttoning the too-big coat, shrugging it off and letting it drop to the floor.

Sirius pays it no attention, instead focusing his eyes on my swollen wrist. "You're hurt."

It's not a question, and after a moment, I nod. His gray eyes – just like mine – soften, and he holds out a hand. "May I?"

I nod again, and he ever-so-gently pulls my left arm away from my body, hand cradling my wrist as he takes out his wand and points it at the wound. " _Ferula_."

A splint and a bandage are immediately constructed around the broken bone, and the pain recedes greatly. I let out a sigh of relief, and he gives me a small smile. "That's better, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Um, thanks," I mumble, suddenly shy.

"It's no problem." He brushes me off absently. "I'm not the best at healing spells, but I've gotten better since...recently. Merlin knows I've needed them," he huffs sardonically.

I give him a half-smile, which he easily returns before standing. "Now, do you want me to dry you off? I'd say change, but unless you've brought your things…"

I shake my head. "No, they're still at Privet Drive. I had to leave quickly."

Sirius – my father – stops in his tracks. "Privet – you live there?!"

"Um...yes? Well, I did."

"With Petunia, I'm assuming? And her fat oaf of a husband?"

My lips quirk into a small smile - my opinion of my father was improving by the minute. "Don't forget their baby whale of a son."

He lets out a laugh that sounded eerily like a bark. "Of course not. But..." he trails off, suddenly sobering. "Orissa, did they hurt you?"

I pause, silently wondering how much I could trust this man, before nodding slowly and carefully.

The effect is instantaneous – a shiver seems to pass through the room, but strangely, it doesn't seem to hit me. Sirius' eyes seem to glow for a second as his jaw stiffens, and for a split second, I see Sirius Black, feared criminal, hero of the First Wizarding War; not Snuffles, the man who's couch I currently occupied.

And then the glow is gone, and suddenly he's… normal-ish, again. But the anger was by no means gone, as was apparent by his next words.

"You don't know how much I want to go down there and hex them or – or…"

"Oh, I think I've got some idea," I assure him. "Trust me, I was a breath away from becoming the _next_ Black mass-murderer. But neither of us can do anything, because I'm underage and you're still wanted."

He stops and sighs, seeming to deflate as a little more tension seems to leak from his frame. "How are you so wise?"

"Just because I go along with Harry's plans don't mean I think that they're particularly _good_ ones," I retort.

Sirius just shakes his head, amused and fingers his wand. "You want to get dried off and warmed up, then?"

I nod, and one Drying Charm, two Warming Charms, one Switching Spell to change my clothes into soft gray pajamas, and two conjured blankets later, I've got myself a nice warm cocoon.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping down here. I mean, the house has bedrooms upstairs, but I'm not sure what state they're in."

"I'm good," I yawn. "I've slept in worse places."

Sirius looks curious at that, but doesn't push it, instead just standing up. "We'll talk more in the morning, then. Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the Nifflers bite."

"I won't," I mumble, letting my eyes fall shut. "Night."

His footsteps recede, ending our vaguely-awkward second encounter in as many weeks. I'm left alone again, this time in an old house with old artifacts that reminded me of a place where Snape or Malfoy would live. Around me, the house creaked and shuddered, but this didn't worry me like it should have.

Right now, all I had to do was sleep. I knew a few important discussions awaited me in the morning, but as the Muggle saying went, I would cross that bridge when I came to it.


	46. Chapter 45

**Here it is, guys! The last chapter! It's been over a year since I published this, and it's been quite the ride, hasn't it? This isn't the last we will hear of Ori, though - a sequel will be out soon, so be sure to follow me for news on that. It may or may not be called "Truth Found in Fire".**

 **Keep reviewing, favoriting, and following!**

I woke up the next morning in a place I don't recognize, in clothes I don't recognize, and my first thoughts are somewhere between confusion and panic.

I open my eyes and sit bolt upright, only growing more confused when I was met with a tall bookcase, filled with ancient looking leather bound books. There weren't any books at Privet Drive, last I'd checked.

And then something in my brain clicks and everything comes flooding back: the shouting matches at Privet Drive, Vernon breaking my wrist, running away, the Knight Bus, 12 Grimmauld Place, seeing Sirius, falling asleep.

Waking up.

The books made more sense now; I had fallen asleep in the library last night, in front of the fireplace. I relax and arch my back, stretching out my slightly stiff muscles before swinging my legs off the couch, shivering slightly as my feet touch the cold wooden floors. I gingerly shuffle to the side, reaching for my wand, and finding a note stuck to the ebony stem.

 _Rissy-_

 _Good morning, I hope you slept well. Breakfast is being served in the kitchen downstairs – leave the library, go down the hallway, turn left, and go down the stairs. There are some things I need to tell you._

(He seemed to write _Dad_ here, but it was crossed out too many times to tell.)

 _-Sirius_

I crumple up the note, slipping my wand into the waistband of my pajama pants and padding out of the room, following the given instructions until I'm standing at the bottom of the staircase, facing a wide-open and strangely bright room, for a basement.

"Over here," a voice calls, and I turn to my right to find the elder Black bustling around a large kitchen. "Good morning," he greets, cheerfully, turning around. I almost burst out laughing when I see he's wearing a bright red "KISS THE COOK" apron, the entire scene painting an entirely too cheerful picture for the surrounding situation.

"I didn't know what you liked," he explains, motioning to the food. "So I just made a little bit of everything."

"Almost anything's fine. Just not oatmeal," I give an involuntary shudder at the thought of the pale, bland goop Petunia served. "Anything but oatmeal."

"Alright then," he grins and motions to the long wooden table – big enough to seat at least ten or fifteen people – and, with a flick of his wand, floats the plates over. "Take a seat, then. There's a lot I want to ask you, if you don't mind?"

I shake my head and take a seat, digging into the food with gusto as my father does the same across from me.

As we eat, Sirius asks questions about what I've done for the last thirteen years: Hogwarts House? Gryffindor. Favorite subject? Defense, with Transfiguration coming in second. Quidditch position? Chaser. Favorite color? Dark red. Favorite animal? Dog, of course.

In return, I ask some questions of my own: he was in Gryffindor, of course. His favorite subject had been Defense as well, but Ancient Runes came in second. He was a Beater, with James playing Chaser, and together they helped Gryffindor win the House Cup in his second, fourth, fifth, and seventh years at school. His favorite color was royal blue, and his favorite animal was actually a wolf.

After we're stuffed and the meal is cleared away, Sirius leans forward with a serious – no pun intended – look on his face. "Orissa, why did you run away from Privet Drive last night?"

"Mr. Dursley hurt me," I respond without hesitation. "I'm not like an abuse victim you see in soap operas, thanks, and I know what he did was wrong – that what _they_ were doing was wrong."

"But why did you come _here_?" he presses. "You could've gone anywhere else. Why did you come here, to stay with a wanted man?"

I shift my eyes to my feet, biting my lip. "You invited me to live with you, right? I assumed that still stood, and besides…it's been thirteen years since I had a – a home. So, I guess…" I shrug. "Plus, you're my – my father, and from what I've gathered, fathers don't usually hurt their kids, so I figured I would be safe here." I look up at him in alarm. "That's okay, right?"

"Yes!" he responds forcibly. "Of course it's okay, Orissa. It'll _always_ be okay for you to come here – come _home_. And as for the 'father' aspect…look, I know I have a _lot_ to make up for when it comes to you, but I figured I could start by giving you a place to stay. And now, knowing what I know about your, ah, 'relatives', I only mean it all the more."

I just stare at him, and he reaches across the table, one of his calloused hands squeezing my own. "Okay?"

I nod, having to fight back the embarrassing tears I can feel pricking in my eyes. Here was the man I hadn't even known about until last September, and hated for about as long, welcoming me into his home and family; the only adult that I can consciously remember doing so.

"Alright then. So, this means that you'll be living here now?" At my nod, he grins. "Guess I'll have to start putting your bedroom together, then. And you're okay with being a Black?"

I give him a curious look. "Why would I not be?"

He shifts in his seat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Our family…doesn't have the best reputation. We're extremely rich and powerful, but that power has usually been used to support whatever Dark Lord is in power. The rest of the world sees this, and that was partially why I was thrown in Azkaban without a second thought."

 _Or a trial,_ I mentally growl. Outwardly, I just shrug. "As long as _you're_ not supporting Voldemort, or expecting me to, I can definitely live with being rich and powerful, trust me."

"People will talk," Sirius reminds me.

"People have been talking since last September," I counter. "That's all kids at Hogwarts ever do. I lost track of how many times I got accused of helping you into the castle. But they can all go to hell for all I care, because as a wise witch once told me, the people that mind don't matter, and the people that matter don't mind."

My father looks positively overjoyed by this news, then he switches to curious. "How much do you know about wizarding politics?"

I pause, caught off guard by the question. "Not much. Fudge is an idiot, if that helps."

"He is that," Sirius agrees. "But here's the basis of what you need to know: there are twenty-eight pureblood families that are the elite of the elite. Each of these families is either known as 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of…' or just 'The Noble House of…'. Each family is ruled by a Lord or Lady, and that person controls the family money, assets, and magic, among other things. Each Head of House also has an Heir."

I nod. "Okay, but why do I need to know this?"

He takes a deep breath, seeming to collect himself, before continuing. "Because the full and proper name of the Black family is The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. I am the current Lord Black, as the oldest son of the main bloodline. You're my only child."

I can feel my jaw drop. "You mean _I'm…_ "

"My Heir, yes." My father nods. "Well, Heir _ess_ , actually, which is bending a few rules, but seeing as you're probably going to be my only child, you're also the bloodline's only shot at future generations."

I just continue to stare at him, stunned silent – yesterday, I was a twisted parody of Cinderella, and now I was finding out that I'd been the heiress to an ultra-rich, ultra-powerful family all along?

My father sighs and puts a hand in his pocket, pulling something out and sliding it across the table. "Here."

It's a small box, made from a deep black wood with a coat of arms etched on the front, and slides it across the table.

I lift the lid, and my breath catches it my throat.

I'm looking at a ring – quite possibly the most intricate piece of jewelry I'd ever seen. The ring itself was thick and wide, looking much like a Muggle class ring, and made of probably real silver. The stone at the top was a marbled mixture of forest green and black, and a pair of wings stretched from either side of the stone to wrap around the band. On top of the stone, a coat of arms was embossed in silver, and I realize that that must be the banner for The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.

The most interesting feature of the ring, though, was the fact that I felt pulled toward it, like this ring belonged to me and had always been mine.

"It's yours," Sirius confirms, and I realize with no small amount of embarrassment that I said the last part out loud. "That ring proclaims you as my Heir, and it's a symbol of confidence and respect among other pureblood families."

"Have you ever felt really, extremely angry, almost like you couldn't control yourself for a moment?" he asks.

I nod eagerly, thinking all the way back to the first time it happened: the second grade, when some older kids called Harry a name I couldn't even remember, but I think it had something to do with Lily and James. I may have only been six years old, but you'd better believe I made those ten-year-olds wet themselves.

Of course, it had then ended in a letter home that only worsened my rebellious streak, but what can you do?

"That was the family magic in your blood rising to the surface," Sirius explains. "It's a thing known as Blood Magic, a very uncommon thing, but the ring also channels that."

I nod reach out a hand, tentatively touching the ring, and I instantly jerk it back. The moment my skin touched the ring, there was a surge inside me – it felt like the same magic I'd expelled yesterday, but it was nowhere near as hot and angry; almost comforting, in a strange way.

"It's okay," Sirius soothes. "That's normal. Go on, now…"

I reach out again, and the same surge comes, but I hold on this time and pull the ring out of the box, holding it in my palm.

"Are you sure?" Sirius asks nervously. "Because you can't exactly back out of the Heirship, and I don't want to pressure you into anything…"

"I'm sure," I reassure him, eyes fixed on the ring – this ring was mine, this position was mine.

"Okay." Sirius takes a deep breath and takes the ring from my hand. I frown at the intense sense of loss, watching as he sets the ring on the table between us. "Kreacher!"

There's a loud crack behind me, and a voice croaks, "Master called?"

I turn to see what is quite possibly the ugliest house-elf I'd ever seen. He was old, with spots marking him wrinkled pink skin. He had large, watery blue eyes, and was dressed in a tea towel loincloth.

"Orissa, meet Kreacher, our house-elf. Kreacher, this is Orissa, my daughter." I nod politely at the elf, but he just glares at me.

"Mudblood lover…blood traitor…oh, what would Mistress say…"

"Kreacher, shut up," Sirius orders. "Go get the things for the Blood Ceremony, please."

The elf nods and disappears with the smallest bow possible, and I turn back to my father. "He doesn't like us, does he."

"No," he chuckles. "Not at all. I'm afraid that's my fault."

"And who was the Mistress he mentioned?"

"My mother, your grandmother." He snarls. "Nasty woman. Her portrait is hanging up in the Entrance Hall – please try not to wake her."

"Wake her?"

"You'll see."

We're interrupted by another crack, and Kreacher sets an armful of items on the table. "Anything else, Master?"

"No, Kreacher," Sirius snaps, and the elf sneers before disappearing again.

I watch the spot where he'd been a few seconds before. "Do you ever think that he'd be nicer if you were?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, sorting through the items. "That'll never happen."

I shrug and turn back to the table, where a few items had been set out. There was a small bowl, an ornate knife, a scroll tied with a black ribbon, the ring, and, of course, both of our wands.

"That's all of it," Sirius announces, looking at me. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I quip.

He gives me a reassuring smile before closing his eyes. When he opens them again, the normally gray eyes are glowing an odd mixture of gray and green, and the air in the room suddenly feels charged.

And then Sirius begins speaking, his voice deep and resonating, and it raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

"I, Lord Sirius Orion of The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, the House of the Raven, appeal to the ancient bloodlines of Magic, born from Lord Merlin himself. I command Blood Magic to hear me!"

I stay silent, awestruck, as he places the ring in the bowl and reaches for my right hand, silently tilting his head.

I gulp and nod, signaling for him to go ahead.

He takes my hand and turns it so my palm was facing upwards, taking the knife and carefully pricking my thumb, quickly moving my hand so a single drop of blood dropped on the stone of the ring.

The ring then erupts into a red light, then changing to the same gray-green as my father's eyes, then losing the glow altogether.

"I hereby appoint Orissa Andromeda as my Heir Apparent, accepting her fully into the House of Black, now and forever more, until which time she inherits the Head title. Let her learn and mature under my guidance, so that she may suitably rule one day."

He moves the parchment to the center of the table, unrolling it to show a contract of sorts. He guides my thumb to the bottom of the parchment, pressing it in before his own bloody thumbprint joins it.

"Let it be written, let it be said, let it be done. _So mote it be!_ "

There's a rush of air, and the parchment vanishes, taking with it the charged feeling in the air, leaving me feeling a bit dizzy and disoriented.

"Are you okay?" Sirius whispers. I look up at him to find his eyes gray again, and not glowing.

"Yeah," I whisper. "Just…wow."

He laughs. "I had the same reaction when I went through the Heir ceremony for the first time." He picks the ring up out of the bowl. "I believe this is yours, madam."

I laugh and hold out my right hand, and he slips the ring onto my third finger, where it fits like a glove.

The resulting feeling is welcoming and overwhelming at the same time.

On one hand, it feels like a missing puzzle piece had just been found, like I'd been without something up until right now and it had just been found.

But at the same time, there was so much power flowing through me, I felt like I would burst. Centuries upon centuries of magic were flowing through my veins, and suddenly I understood why Lupin had described my father's temper as 'explosive'. There was only so much power one person could hold, and when a breaking point was reached, well… I exploded my "Aunt's" kitchen.

Eventually, the pressure fades, leaving me with a monstrous headache, but also a warm feeling that felt remarkably like a hug and smelled like…a dog?

I open my eyes and squeal when I realize I had moved from my earlier position. My father was now holding me like a child, his arms wrapped protectively around me. "Um?"

"Hello there, pup. You alright?"

"Yes," I reply, slightly confused as I find myself not wanting to move. "Are you, um, going to let go of me?"

"Oh, yeah," he chuckles, loosening his arms, and I slip out of them and climb back into my seat, admiring my new ring. "One last question."

"Yes?"

"If you wanted me to be a part of your family this badly," I ask slowly, "then why did you leave me?"

He falls quiet, his eyes darkening, and for a second I fear I've asked exactly the wrong question, but then he sighs heavily. "I didn't know it would go as badly as it did."

I tilt my head like my Animagus form would. "What do you mean?"

"What you have to understand, Rissy, is that I was an Auror, as well as a naturally powerful wizard. I was going after Peter Pettigrew, the boy I'd had to drag through seven years of school, for Merlin's sake! It never entered my mind that he'd beat me in any way."

I nod, and he continues. "I won't tell you I didn't want to kill him, because that would be a lie. He'd just killed the closest thing I'd ever had to a brother and sister, yes, I had planned on killing him. So I left you – or Allison, since the charms were still in place – and set off to find the rat. The rest, as they say, is history."

"But you have to understand that I _never_ meant to leave you," he whispers. "I may have been not yet twenty-one and seven different kinds of foolish, not to mention a stubborn hothead, but for a little over a year, my world revolved around you. That was one thing Azkaban couldn't change."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "And I know that I've royally screwed up as a father, but if you'll allow it, I'd like to make up for it."

I nod, forcing myself to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat as I lean forward and hug him, feeling him respond in kind.

After a moment I pull back, wiping at my eyes. "You know, I may be a girl, but even I can't stand the amount of emotion in this room right now. Can we go back upstairs?"

He laughs, nods, and leads me out of the kitchen, back up a flight of stairs and into the library. "Don't you have summer homework to do or something?"

I scowl at him, and he collapses back onto a couch, wheezing in laughter. "Your face!"

I huff, and once he regains a little composure, he looks at me. "No, really. Homework?"

"Um…" I suddenly become interested in my feet. "I didn't have much of a chance to grab my things last night. I told Harry to bring the stuff with him in September."

"That's alright, I might have a few of my old books laying around," Sirius suggests. "But there'll be plenty of time for that later. For now, can I interest you in a tour?"

I perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. After all, you _do_ need to see your future bedroom," he points out.

"What are we waiting for?" I demand, turning to head for the door.

"Shoes, maybe?" he calls, amused, and I feel my cheeks burn as I realized that I was still barefoot.

A flick of a wand has me wearing a pair of dark red slippers with tough rubber soles. A moment later, my father joins me by the door. "Let me go first, alright? I don't really know what we might come across."

I nod, and he leads the way out of the library. The first room was just across the hall – apparently, it had once been a formal dining room, grand and majestic, but at the moment it was falling apart. Most of the eating was done downstairs, Sirius explained, since that was far more casual of an environment.

He leads me past the portrait and some preserved elf heads, and up the stairs.

The second floor featured the first bedroom, currently a haven for dust bunnies and something that hissed at me when I got too close to the bed, a bathroom, and – most importantly – a huge drawing room, which doubled as a study and a home for a massive tapestry depicting our family tree.

("I'm related to _Draco Malfoy?!_ "

"Second cousins, I think.")

The drawing room was two floors tall, and all that was left on the third floor was another bedroom and bathroom.

The fourth floor had bedroom #3 and a toilet, but it also had a master bedroom that housed a very familiar hippogriff.

"If only my parents could see this," Sirius snickers. "I'm literally letting a beast rampage all over their precious room."

"That's brilliant," I praise excitedly. "Remind me to never make you mad."

"Oh, trust me, you'd never be able to achieve the same level of mad that they did, pup." He turns and heads for the stairs. "Come on, it's just up here."

I follow him up the creaking staircase, stopping once I reach the top.

Just across from the stairs, there was a door that looked beaten up, like the dark wood had taken some damage over the years. I move towards it, curious, but I'm stopped by my father calling, "You're over here."

I follow the voice to my right, stopping in front of a door with a sign that said: _"Do Not Enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black."_

"Who's he?" I ask.

"My brother," my father sighs. "Bloody prat." He rips the sign off and flings open the door, stepping into the room.

This room isn't like the others – it isn't dusty or moldy, and nothing hissed or growled or slithered. Instead, this room was perfectly preserved, with clean carpets and bedding.

It had obviously been inhabited by a Slytherin once, as was evident by the emerald green walls and Slytherin banner hanging over the desk, as well as the pictures of a Quidditch team robed in green. The same family crest as was on my ring was painted above the bed, and underneath that, a collage of newspaper clippings. A closer look at these revealed that they all depicted Voldemort's actions, and some of them made my stomach flip.

"My brother was our parent's prized son," my father explains as I roam around the room. "Proud Slytherin, pureblood extremist, bloody Death Eater – that's what Voldemort's followers were called."

"That's a stupid name," I mutter, carefully poking through the desk drawers.

"Yeah, it is," he agrees. "Do you like the room? I mean, we can always repaint, of course, and put up whatever decorations you want, but-"

"I love it," I cut him off, crossing the room to give him a hug. "Thanks…Dad."

He immediately wraps me in a bear hug, almost lifting my feet off the ground.

And that moment, right there? It was that – not the ring, not the power, but my father hugging me in the middle of my bedroom that let me know that this was _home_.

And no matter what happened in the world – because stuff would always happen, I was _Harry Potter's_ best friend – I could always come back here, and I would find the people that really mattered waiting.


	47. Sequel

**Hello, dear readers!**

 **I thought you would all like to know two bits of important news: one, this story is now completed. It's done. Two: the sequel is now up! It's known as "Truth Found in Fire", and I would really appreciate it if you could all check it out.**


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